Body cold,
heart aflame,
Burning
me—this winter’s so insane!
What on earth have you written?
Just reading it has got me all heated up! And I’m feeling strangely bashful too. Let me add a line—Dagas has no shame! My goodness, what is this! You’re quite the devil, aren’t you!
Helloooooo
Mister Arrogant!
So, can I call you ‘Dagas’? This word has no meaning. I made it up just to call you by. Listen, the BCS preliminary exam is coming up! I have to take it, I mean, I will. So I should study a bit, shouldn’t I? This little bit of studying won’t do, will it? You can’t get by with so little. I know that. The boys are driving themselves crazy studying. I know it all. Still, there’s a faint hope in my heart—what if I manage to pass with just a little studying! The heart is such a deceitful thing, you understand! But I couldn’t even organize my desk! And here I am supposed to pick up books! At this old age, my mind won’t settle at the study table!!! Listen, for people like me who have absolutely no desire to study, or who can’t remember anything, or who are extremely lazy—make a fantastic set of notes for us! Whether I study for 7 days or 7 months, it’s all the same for me. I can’t remember a thing! Well, let’s see, I’ll start the day after tomorrow. I enrolled in some cheap coaching center just so I could get out of the house. I haven’t gone there even once, not even for a real ‘single day.’ I just wasted the money! For nothing!
Dagas, if I get a job, I’ll go to Chittagong, you won’t have to do anything for me, just tell me where your coaching center was. I’ll go see it, and I’ll also check out your shop. I really want to see it! So many things I want to do! Right now I feel like doing something with you! I feel like riding on the roof of the moon’s chariot with you! Take me for a ride someday! I won’t pay the fare. And I’ll bring two glasses in my bag. How about it? No, never mind, you might catch a cold! Then your parents will scold me for taking you on the chariot, saying I shouldn’t have. I’m very scared of being scolded! Who knows, maybe your nose will start going drip drip drip………ew! Ugh, you’re so delicate! Ewwww………forget it! I’ll go alone! Alright, bye. I won’t bother you anymore. Really. I don’t even know when I’ll return home, and Chittagong is so far away! Huh, you’re saved!
Listen, this is the third time I’m going to Dhaka alone, and every time my father, mother, uncle—they all warn me, you know what they say? That I shouldn’t talk to strangers, shouldn’t eat anything anyone offers me, should save the bus number in my phone so I don’t get on the wrong bus after the break, and so much more! You can imagine my situation!
Dear Dugas,
This is going to be quite a long piece! No need to read it. It’ll just upset you. You’re used to getting nothing but praise—you don’t need to read my rambling nonsense. But here I go anyway! What can I do? I’ve already started writing! I’m not as good and straightforward(?) a person as you are, brother. I couldn’t help myself from speaking up. And if you do end up reading this, please don’t take anything too seriously. But if you do take it seriously, that’s your choice! I’m writing this in a fit of anger! I’m mad and I’ve lost too! No problem there. I actually enjoy losing when I’m angry. Though honestly, I didn’t write this in much of a rage. Somehow my anger converted itself into laughter! I didn’t even realize it! This is just how I am! The Creator doesn’t love me, you know! I won’t write anymore, go on. Won’t bother you either. So, you’re well, I know. Well then, be even better. Good. Holy men are always well anyway. Farewell!
Hypocrite!!!
Not you! Me! I’m calling myself that. You’re absolutely wonderful! Okay, “What goes around comes around. Every man is paid back in his own coin.” Could you take some time to explain the Bengali meaning of this English mumbo-jumbo, Dugas! I’ve discovered another meaning for Dugas—”The Ocean of Knowledge!” Hehe! Okay, enough of that nonsense! Now let me get to the serious stuff. You’re a bad boy. And a hypocrite. Yes, I had the courage to say it. So what are you going to do about it? What can you possibly do? Ha! Here comes my two-bit worth!
I’ve made a decision—I’m not taking you to Kashmir with me. I’ll get a job, save money, and go alone. I don’t have pretensions like you. I don’t need anyone. I have no interest in clothes, no interest in mobile phones, no habit of riding yellow rickshaws and winter cycle-rickshaws like you with all that fuss, no weakness for special brand items. And when I see the waiters at smart chain restaurants talking with that affected manner, I get feverish! How can I even eat! (Even if someone fed me! Right, little Chandu?) What I love is dusty street food. And stagnant water. I’m not a gentleman like you who’ll run to the bathroom every few minutes after eating street food and whine like a horse going “Mama, mama, stomachache, stomachache!” And I don’t have a Facebook addiction either! So where are my expenses, tell me? All my salary money will just pile up. I don’t need to give tuitions or run a business. Whatever salary I get will make me way richer than you. Ha! I’ll go to India, I’ll go to Nepal, I’ll go to Egypt, I’ll go to France, I’ll go to Italy, I’ll go to Russia, I’ll go to Brazil, I’ll go to Mexico, I’ll go to Spain, I’ll go to Belgium, I’ll go to Norway, I’ll even go to South Africa! I couldn’t write them all down—all the places I wrote and all the ones I didn’t write, I’ll go everywhere. Alone! And I’ll pose dramatically for photos like you do and tag you in every single one. Yeahhhhhhh………(That thing I wrote at the end there, that’s also a kind of pose, I wrote it on purpose—I never actually talk like that in real life.)
Wait, why did I say I’ll go here, I’ll go there? I acted as if you had promised to take me somewhere and then didn’t keep your word! How strange! I’m such a complete weirdo! Actually, I’ve forgotten what context I was even talking about all this in! I’ve genuinely forgotten why I wrote these things. Because I went to eat. Then I chatted with friends, came back to write, but I can’t remember why I wrote all that stuff. But there must have been something on my mind! What was I even trying to write! Ugh!!! Anyway, take care.
And why are you posting pictures like some old-school romantic? My favorite pictures of you were so much more manly! (What a weakling! A man whose masculinity disappears just by fulfilling a couple of tiny requests from Shanaya baby is a pathetic excuse for a man! You’re such a………(even worse words are coming to mind, so I won’t write them—you figure it out yourself. The more offensive you imagine, the more accurate you’ll be.)) Still, these lovey-dovey pictures aren’t exactly bad, but there’s something wrong with them that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something feels off! You seem all mushy. Though you are mushy anyway! Don’t think I mean “bad” when I say mushy! Mushy means silly! Hee hee hee………sorry! I won’t tease anymore. Listen, everyone knows that first boys are silly, brother! Even a child knows that! You don’t need pictures to figure that out! Okay, sorry for that too. My dear Creator! I’m dying! Listen, if I die right now from laughing so hard I can’t breathe, who’ll be responsible? You or me? I could barely write from laughing so much. Sorry. What can I do? Okay, I won’t annoy you anymore. Listen, isn’t there any way for me to stop bothering you? Give me some serious scolding, even if you have to force yourself, brother! Yell at me! You have a PhD in swearing! Let’s see if that helps! I’m thoroughly annoyed with my own behavior. And………what’s happening? Hmmmm……you’re not as bad as you think you are, you’re actually not quiiite that bad. Get it? Or should I explain more? You’re a little crazy, but hmmm………but welllll……you’re also somewhat okayyyy in your own way………hee hee hee! Okay, sorry! Sorry! I’ve said sorry so much that foam is coming out of my mouth! Wait, doesn’t foam come out when you’re bitten by a snake? Ewwwww! Creator, may no snake bite me, oh Creator! I’d rather say sorry to Dagas a few more times (a thousand?), that’s punishment enough for me! Hee hee hee!
Well, I was thinking about all the things I knew I’d write, but I can’t remember a single one. Darn! But those were definitely not good things anyway, I mean obviously those words were meant to needle you! Ugh!! The Creator loves you too much! Made me forget everything and saved you! I’m so jealous of you! Creator, why do you love hypocrites? Because he’s a boy? Just because he’s a boy, the Creator loves you—you have no other qualification whatsoever to earn the Creator’s love. Someone who deceives Shanaya with lies, who hurts Shanaya, who acts hypocritically with Shanaya—how can the Creator love him? Listen, you hypocritical, deceitful rascal, I’m just saying all this casually, and well, I mean I… ahem, ahem… forgive you. You’ll surely get love from the Creator and family and friends and earthlings and ordinary people, plus you’ll get love from aliens too, and of course from genies and fairies. Say Amen! What’s the big deal anyway? So what if I forgot the hypocrisy a little, so what if I forgave a little, so what if I wished for something good—your well-being doesn’t harm me! What’s the problem? Alright then, bye-bye! Happy flirting! Stay well and keep others unwell. Got it?
But here’s the thing—
the Creator made a mistake
by loving you. The Creator has terrible taste. Creator! Why is your taste like this? Oh no! What did I just say in front of this guy from Chittagong!
Chittagong! Chittagong—my absolute favorite place; not the city though, that’s awful! My favorite is the entire
Chittagong Hill Tracts area. Well, if I say the whole division, then
everything comes into it. I love the whole division. But not the people. Please don’t beat me up!
The Creator and I have a special relationship, you grown-ups, you wouldn’t
understand. I swear on my mother, I’m a true
devotee of the Creator. How can I make you understand? Listen, people from Chittagong eat way too much salt! That’s why everyone has puffiness under their eyes. You have it too, I can see. You should get your creatinine checked.
I also have puffiness under my eyes, though not all the time—it’s really bad
in the mornings. So I told my eldest aunt. She said I needed kidney tests,
had all sorts of tests done
and everything turned out fine. But…but how do I explain to my aunt that I don’t care if my
kidneys get ruined, that’s not my
problem, the problem is
I’m starting to look old! I believe in staying natural—apart from haircuts, I deliberately don’t use any parlor services, but it seems like I won’t be able to maintain this pride much longer. Now I feel like I’ll have to get my eyebrows shaped, I’ll need to get facials! Oh no! I used to tease my pretty sister and friends about their beauty routines! I can’t do that anymore! Can’t torment them! Can’t say anything with pride! Listen, you won’t tell anyone my real age, will you! How do I look? At this rate I’ll never get married. You probably started school a year early, because all my classmates are my age, so by that calculation you should be two and a half years older than me.
And listen, from whatever my age is,
subtract 3 years, because I was practically
in a coma for three years, so we have to subtract those three years from the calculation. (Why was I? That’s another story! For another day!) Now, don’t get the wrong idea about my parents,
if they wanted to like other parents
they could force me to do lots of things! But I hope they won’t! They create just one problem—
they don’t let me go anywhere alone. They’re scared! They say I’m an idiot! Does that make any sense, tell me? Even being an idiot has limits, right? Am I an
unlimited idiot?
My life has been ruined by just one pig! Want an example of what a massive pig that pig is? I absolutely love badmouthing others! I’m a woman, after all! Once my middle uncle gave me around ten to twelve thousand taka as a festival gift—uncle’s single, so he gives us pretty hefty sums almost every time. And I just go around spending it all riding rickshaws and reserving all four seats in an auto! Then two days later I’m a beggar, having to walk everywhere! Don’t even have money for tea! Can’t ask at home either, but I get caught anyway! Then when they ask for accounts, I can’t give any accounting at all and get yelled at. Whether I have 500 taka, 5000 taka, or 10,000 taka—it all lasts the same number of days. Meaning, no matter what, I have to spend half the month as a pauper. (Those people who never spend anything, just keep saving and saving—what are they going to do with all that money? Though the way I spend is nothing but foolishness.) Anyway, so once when I saw the money disappearing fast, I bought a mobile phone. My real interest was in listening to music—none of the phone’s other features are any use to me. So that pig snatched away my cheap little hobby phone! He’d taken my previous phone too, the one where he’d collected all my relatives’ numbers without telling me, then gave the phone back to blackmail me with. This one he didn’t return. What a petty person, can you imagine! It makes me laugh! Oh, the good part—he gave that phone to his sister! Why? His sister is a good student, studying medicine in Dhaka, and apparently she’s embarrassed to take out her phone in front of her friends! But she felt no shame at all using a stolen phone! How many shameless girls like that will you find, tell me? The phone wasn’t anything very expensive, but that’s not the point—the point is something else entirely! What can I do! None of this actually harms me! Someone whose life is already a struggle—what business do they have with phones anyway! This is an example of his least terrible deed!
You wouldn’t believe how petty and awful and despicable people can be, even if I told you stories. Everyone else’s families say, “Don’t fall in love,” but my family used to say, “Fall in love with whoever you like, no problem, just be sensible about it.”
My family had only one requirement—that the boy’s family should be educated. Oh, what cursed luck! I had no idea people could lie about their own parents’ professions! What a trap I fell into. Ugh!
What days I lived through! I kept my mouth shut and endured three years, even avoiding my friends. I’d pray to the Creator so much—you kill so many people, why don’t you kill that pig! I’m so terrible, aren’t I? Praying for someone else’s death! What could I do? Of course, I was at fault too! I wasn’t very bright, you see—I’d believe whatever anyone told me. I can’t say too much about it though, or my parents will get upset again! I’m not one to hide things, of course. I’m waiting. I’ve told many people, like my friends. Whoever hears it gets scared! I won’t tell you though. Don’t worry. After all………you’re a boy, aren’t you? I don’t want you thinking badly of me or finding me disgusting. I’m trying to control myself bit by bit.
Sorry, am I bothering you too much?
By the way, did you try to kill yourself? Why do I feel like—you did? I can’t remember old things, and I have some overly sympathetic classmates who suddenly overflow with pity for me! When they try to show sympathy, they only remind me of things! Even though I’ve told them a thousand times that chapter is closed!
What should I do, tell me! It’s unbearable. Even hearing words of sympathy makes me sick. I don’t want to stay here anymore. Every single girl in my department is a bitch. You’re thinking I’m so terrible, calling other girls names out of jealousy, aren’t you? Sorry sir, I’ve caused you distress, but some of the girls in my department really are genuine bitches. I should know. I don’t have a problem with that—the problem is they don’t look at themselves, they look at me. And I don’t know what the boys are like.
Apart from my childhood neighborhood friends, I know many boys, but I don’t have any real friends. Although I talk nicely with everyone, boys and girls alike—I can even carry on conversations without knowing someone’s name—somehow I never make friends! But now I’m becoming quite shrewd! So what? All my future colleagues, who by good fortune are all becoming my seniors, are complete losers! Maybe one of them might be my equal, and he’s good-looking too, but he has very little hair on his head! I’ve heard that people with less hair are supposedly wise. So what good does that do me? Am I going to wash his wisdom and drink the water? Or wash his baldness and drink sherbet? More importantly, I’ve seen many bald men who are complete idiots! What if he turns out to be one of those pieces? Damn! And the sad thing is, no one talks to me! Everyone talks to my father!! Uncle! Uncle! Blah! Blah!! Blah!!!……………Directorate-this, ministry-that, all that official gibberish—nothing gets through my head! I’m famously clueless! Only the Creator knows how I’ll ever manage to work!
You know, everyone thinks I’m so gentle, so good-natured, but deep down I’m quite wicked, quite cruel—in my heart I even commit murder! Just a few days ago that pig called me up, whining and sniveling about why the Creator is taking everything away from him! Why is He making him suffer so much! That whole “Why me? Why me?” type of whimpering and moaning. Though it could all be an act, of course. Who’s to say? I’m actually forbidden from talking to him! If they find out at home, I’ll get a proper scolding. Besides, I have no interest in hearing that pig’s sob stories. Whether someone’s happy or miserable makes no difference to me—I don’t even have time to hate anyone. But I didn’t humiliate him at all, though I didn’t say much either. I shared a couple of nice thoughts from your notes, twisted them around a bit. And I told him, if you stop begging greedily from the Creator, He’ll give you everything naturally. I give everyone this same advice: ask less from the Creator, man! The Creator doesn’t like greedy people. Everyone suffers trying to be happy, while I’m so happy I can’t even manage to get upset when I try. No one even scolds me. I have so little shame! Scoldings go in one ear and out the other! I don’t get angry at anyone. I just burst out laughing! I only get scolded for laughing! When I say I have no sorrows, nobody believes me. They say the Creator supposedly never makes anyone one hundred percent happy! Really? Well, look—He’s made me that way! Everyone thinks I must be hiding my pain. Oh please! If I have no desires, then I won’t have any lack either, right? And if I have no lack, what would I be sad about? Now of course there is one tiny little lack that keeps me just a teensy bit sad, and that is not getting to see you with a beard!! Just grow a beard once, brother! What’s the harm? Will all the women run away? Khyaak khyaak khyaak! See! My laugh sounds so weird! ‘Khyaak’… does anyone laugh like that, tell me! Well, demons do. Let them laugh! That’s how I find peace laughing. What can I do? Khyaaaaaaaaaaaakkkkk! Sweetie, this is why nobody likes me. I should probably practice laughing like ‘hee hee’! But I keep forgetting! Anyway, when the women run away after seeing the beard, you can shave it off again! Everyone will come fluttering back! I won’t bother you anymore either. And now that my Facebook is closed, I don’t have to look at your rotten, dramatic cover photo, so my sadness is getting neutralized bit by bit! I annoy you, but I annoy my girlfriend, siblings, and parents way more. If you were my twin cousin from this life instead of a previous one, you’d have been done for!
I almost forgot to mention—I took a picture for you, but instead of giving it to you, I’ll just put it on Facebook. Please don’t go thinking, “Oh my God, how much Shanaya Khan must miss the writer!” Ha! Dream on! And what’s happening is… I do miss you anyway, but it’s nothing romantic or anything like that. (I’m angry, you know! All the truth keeps spilling out when I ramble!) That’s not the point—the point is, I took the picture just for fun, might use it as a profile pic. Just mischief, you know! Then again, I might not even post it. Nothing’s certain. Nothing about me is certain. My sister says, “Shanaya, just put up a photo advertising some herbal remedy!” (She doesn’t know that if I gift this and do all that, someone else’s ego will shoot straight up to cloud seven!) I don’t understand what everyone’s problem is with this name. Such a beautiful name! Even people who aren’t my friends complain about it! I won’t change my name just because someone says so, so they sulk about it too! I’ve put off changing it until I get a job! Anyway, we two sisters had such fun taking lots of selfies together for the Shanaya name ID! Oops! There I go again, starting to chat with you so sweetly! Damn it! I’m really not human! If only I had any sense of shame! Well, whatever—I will call you once from Rajshahi. I won’t call, Shanaya will. If you don’t pick up, so be it. Living under such tyranny of emotions means living half-dead and learning to survive half-dead. Hahahaha… how’s that little gem of wisdom? I write to you, I don’t know if you read it or not, but when I write I think about your situation, and immediately I just chew up and swallow all the entertainment! And I’m so madly in love with myself that I don’t even have time to wonder whether you’re reading this (‘love’ meaning ‘writing’). Ha!
And… and what else? Do you have anything worth saying? I don’t even feel like talking to you anymore! Go on! Oh, what does “uppus” mean? Listen, uppus means what you smart people would say as “oops!” Get it?? You smart aleck!
And one more thing. Absolutely the last thing! No more, really no more. Really the end! There’s something I want to tell you, but my girlfriends have sworn me to secrecy and are holding me back! Even when I praise you, they insist you must be bad. I’m your admirer—whenever I tell them this, they tear me apart completely. I listen to them, but in exchange I’ve made them promise never to search for anything using your name. It’s already hard enough for you to visit your wall because of the harassment from your crazy fans—forget about reading comments—and if on top of that… I mean, my girlfriends are such devils! You can’t trust beautiful devils! If they read your posts and betray me… then… then… then what else? I can’t do anything about it!! I couldn’t do anything anyway, neither this way nor that way. I’m a creature without claws or teeth. My screaming ability is enormous—see, I can only yell, nothing else! I can’t do anything about anything! Still. Just because. Like when I was little and everyone would bench me during games, I’d still play with great joy—it’s like that! Okay, I’m leaving.
Dear Granthik,
I’ve told you so many things. This isn’t a formal letter, certainly not a love letter, nothing serious, and not just fooling around either. I don’t have much emotion, and I lack the ability to write with feeling. When emotions start pouring out, I just want to laugh. What can I do?
I don’t even know what I’ve written. I’m telling the truth, but what I’ve written and what I’m trying to say—I have no idea about any of it. I’m just writing whatever comes to mind. All these words, but there’s no point in reading them, and no harm in not reading them either. Actually, I thought—I tell you everything anyway, and I’ve certainly done my share of chattering with you, so what’s the point of holding back that little bit? Whatever’s in my mind, let me say it all. But the saying didn’t come out beautifully, and I didn’t even try to make it so. Nobody but me talks to you in such a disorganized and incoherent way. Nothing can be done about it. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll slip on a banana peel and have a heart attack! Tell me, don’t poor people have heart attacks? Or do they not have hearts in their chests? Whatever there was to say, I’ve said it all. What is there in life anyway! And you’ll probably gossip about all this to other girls—how this girl got a crush, blah blah blah… (the way you tell me about others)! So go ahead, tell them! Get your satisfaction from telling! What else can be done! If telling all this raises your value a little, so be it! It’s not like you have much market value anyway, though you act as if you’re some precious commodity! One request though—whoever you tell about me, don’t tell anyone who knows me. I feel embarrassed, you rascal! But even if you do tell, there’s nothing I can do about it, right? Fine, tell whoever you want, go on. I don’t like this attitude men have.
What I write
is pure gibberish, like a madwoman’s rambling—please read it as just talk,
not writing. I
can’t write. And I can’t say anything beautifully with those fancy metaphors and comparisons either. I don’t remember them, and even if I did, I wouldn’t like them. Literature and all that isn’t my thing. I like
everything natural and real, even if
it’s bad, no problem. Everything has to be natural. People say they need to use the big bathroom! Why, brother? If someone took you at your word and left you in a large
bathroom with only facilities for peeing, would you do your big business in that peeing spot? And if that bathroom only had
bathing facilities, then what?? What would happen then, buddy? Strange people! What I have to say, I say
absolutely straight. I don’t have time
for all this storytelling! Because of this, I often become
downmarket or crazy or rough or some girl who can’t speak properly in the eyes of my smart sister or the youngsters. Of course I
have many shortcomings myself, but setting those aside,
I like this simple ‘me’ of mine. And the thing is, I can’t change for anyone either. I am what
I am. I am what I am! (If you feel like it, read it as ‘whatever’! No problem at all.) If you can handle it, welcome;
if you can’t, goodbye!
That’s it! I’ve written whatever I felt like, I mean
said. Read it if you want,
don’t read it if you don’t want to.
As simple as that! If I tried, I could speak fake, stylish, pretentious words, but I’d feel like a fraud, brother! There’s no pain greater than
losing yourself. What should I do, tell me! If I’m
rough, then being rough is good for me. I can’t be fake-smart. Ever since childhood
I’ve told fewer lies, and even when I do, it bothers me inside. When I
lie, you can tell just by looking at my eyes and the way I speak. It’s not that I don’t lie, of course not, but if someone
believes it, I suffer terrible guilt. I always lie only when joking around—those lies are never harmful lies. Besides that,
if I have to lie out of necessity—I mean, sometimes you have to—then later
I confess it to the person I lied to or someone else and find a little peace.
I mean, someone or other always
knows all my truths!
What I’m telling you
might be a lot of rubbish,
rambling nonsense, but nothing I’ve said
is a lie. “Might be” means if you feel like boycotting me, then let me know straight up. And if you truly don’t have the patience or time to read a madman’s ravings
or chatter, then I have one request—don’t read it all at once, because listening to so much talk
all at once isn’t possible, you’ll get annoyed,
brother, so read just a page or two each day. I
couldn’t check the spelling properly because I don’t have
that much patience myself, though I did look a little
and after looking I thought, what kind of
horse’s egg has this become! None of this blabbering makes any sense at all! Oh well. What’s
done is done. Can’t write anything new
from scratch. I’m in Rajshahi now, and I wrote those earlier things
sitting in Dhaka. Awake all night and all day. I’m saying again, don’t take these as writing, take them as talk, at most rambling if you feel like it, nothing more than that. And whatever else,
I would never wish you any harm,
there’s no doubt about that.
I have a request—don’t say anything like nitpicking-type stuff taking advantage of my weakness. Another thing, I’m not beautiful, these days staying home somehow, I mean I’m getting a bit
fair-skinned little by little. Looking at myself
in the mirror makes me laugh! Actually I’m dark-complexioned, and I don’t even bathe, don’t comb my hair either. You were coming, so I had to do all that with great effort. Good thing,
there’s no one for me,
I don’t need anyone either.
I’m just like this. If I get the Creator’s love, that’s enough. I don’t need anything else. If I start talking then I’ll just
keep talking, keep talking. Can you
stop a madman, tell me! That’s why I’m
switching off with great effort. Bye-bye. And yes I’m bad, that’s fine,
but just because I told you
many truths about myself, don’t think badly of me.
How would you have known that I’m bad
if I hadn’t told you myself? Acting can be done, boss! I see so many terribly
bad people going around pretending to be angels—no one can ever catch them!
2014 is my favorite year. This was when I finally got back to my old self, cranking up the music to full volume and bouncing around like a maniac, making up with old girlfriends after all that pent-up anger and getting back to our wild hangouts like before. We’d go to Zia Park and ride everything in sight, screaming our heads off together with reckless abandon. There’s this ride called the Octopus—you’d get on it and get so dizzy you’d throw up, but we rode it four times in a row! I’ll be forever grateful to 2014 because I completely broke free from a terrible monster’s grip, and there’s more. I got a huge sum of money as a gift from my uncle, and except for buying a hard disk, I didn’t buy anything worth mentioning, but somehow all the money’s gone! If people like me lived in every household, the banking industry would’ve crashed in no time. If anyone knew my story, they’d finish me off! I got loads of clothes as gifts from aunts and uncles, I got the news that my sister’s having a baby, and 2014 will always be my favorite because I got a job. The professors don’t really understand the difference between BCS cadre and non-cadre appointments, so thinking I’m the only one from Rajshahi University who became a cadre officer, without knowing any better, they’ve been showering me with affection, thinking I’m some brilliant student! Well, it feels pretty good! They don’t know, and they don’t need to know either. What’s this cadre, non-cadre business anyway? I got a job—that’s what matters! Everyone’s treating me like a son-in-law, let them! I don’t mind! And there’s another reason why that year became special, but I can’t say what that is. I’m not afraid of anyone’s feelings or anything, but somehow, somewhere, something feels… I don’t know how to put it!
I’ve been bothering you a lot, haven’t I? And I’ve said sorry so many times, but the truth is I don’t feel sorry at all—I’m actually laughing to myself, hee-hee-ha-ha-heh-heh. You seem a bit thick-headed too! Anyway, I won’t chatter too much today. I’ll say very little, and whatever I say will be true. And that is… something’s happened to me! I think about you all the time! I mean, all the time, really… Please don’t be scared—even though I look terrifying, I’m not that scary in my behavior. So what I was trying to say, I couldn’t really say it properly out loud, so I couldn’t write it either. Listen, so many people must say all this silly stuff to you, right? So what’s the problem if I say it too? Let’s do this—pretend I’m not a girl, okay? Think of me as just… something else. Then you won’t feel uncomfortable reading this, and I won’t feel uncomfortable writing it. Once you’re done reading, you can think of me as a girl again. Okay? Please be honest and don’t cheat me. Okay?
I trust you completely and feel such peace just chattering away. Even if you don’t read any of this, I’m assuming you haven’t read it, and that won’t hurt me at all. But I’m just assuming that even if you have nothing else to do and end up reading all of this anyway, you won’t at least laugh at me. I don’t know why this confidence is coming to me. It would have been fine if things had stayed at this level—I mean, that’s what I used to think all this time! But lately, as I keep thinking about it, I’m starting to suspect something else about myself. But I lied just now! Actually, I’ve had this suspicion for a long time, but I can’t figure out how to confirm it. So, O Granthik, something has really happened to me. Let me tell you some symptoms, and you tell me what this actually is—I mean, what’s happened to me!
1. The name ‘Granthik’ is always dancing around in my head—you could call it somewhat zikr-like… Granthik! Granthik! Granthik! Sometimes a question or two comes free along with the name, like: What is Granthik doing now? Or what is he thinking! That’s it, things like that.
2. I’m enjoying talking about you with others—I mean, even without bringing up your name directly, or talking around the edges of what I know about you from reading your writing, even talking about status-related things feels good.
3. When the few people I can mention your name to speak badly of you, my heart sinks. I feel like making enemies of them.
4. The few stories I’ve heard about your past—when I think about these things, I can’t help thinking: Oh no! How much that little boy must have suffered! Even then I feel terrible and just want to go back in time to talk with you a little, to rest my hand on your shoulder and give you courage, to tell you not to think of yourself as alone, and ahem… ahem… well, I mean, to hold your hand a little too. Please don’t get the wrong idea—I’m only saying this about holding hands because I want to be honest in my writing, but I swear to God, and you should understand this properly: this is for the ‘nobody’ Granthik of that time, and not even all the time—just during those status updates. And though there usually aren’t negative comments on Granthik’s writing, when I spot one or two, my heart sinks. It’s not reading the comments that makes me sad—I get sad thinking that if Granthik reads this, his heart will sink! But…! There’s a ‘but’ though! If I say something a little negative myself, and even if I know this might make Granthik angry, then I don’t feel bad at all! Is this about claiming ownership? What’s the point of exercising such one-sided rights? And that too, only in my mind?
5. I see you
openly flirting with girls! And I have to witness all of this! What agony! Then I see
some girls responding, while others
start behaving the same way themselves. For some reason, watching all this makes my heart burn with jealousy until it turns to ash and flies away! Tell me sir, didn’t Shiva smear ash all over his body? I’m terribly curious about
the explanation for this.
Could you tell me a little? Please don’t get angry thinking
I’m making fun of your religion. Have you registered
this religion in your name or something? Who told you
this isn’t my religion too?
All religions are my religion. What I say
about my own religion is
my business. Yes, I don’t revere
any religion as much as you do. The Creator gave me the ability to understand what’s good and what’s bad,
didn’t He? I don’t need religion that much, but the respect or faith
that people have for religion—
that I truly
respect a great deal. Believe me! I only dare to joke like this
in front of you, brother. I don’t hurt
anyone’s beliefs,
even if someone tells ghost stories with conviction, I try
to believe those too. I’m someone who cherishes faith. Oh my! Look where
all this talking has led me!
6. Whenever I
log into Facebook, however rarely
I may do so, 96% of the time I go straight
to your address, I mean
granthik-dot-iba, directly to your page. The remaining 2% is when someone asks me to look at something
or tags me or wants to say something or calls and tells me to sit down, and the other 2% is when I have something of my own to check.
There’s more! There’s
more! But if I tell you all that, I’ll sound like a heroine from a cheesy Bengali film, so I won’t. Well, shall we finish talking about
what I’ve already told you? One of my friends says none of this matters, it’s just attraction (infatuation) and it’s
a perfectly normal thing, and she says, do whatever you want, have fun, fool around, just don’t do anything serious, that’s all. Well, let me tell you my actual age. (Please don’t tell
anyone!) 28 years, 4 months, 25
days. So even at this age, would I be showing the above symptoms just from teenage-like
attraction? And suppose it is just attraction,
then why don’t I feel
the same way toward other men? Why don’t I want to look
at anyone else? Why don’t I want to think
about anyone else? Why don’t I want to tease
anyone else? Why don’t I want to pour my heart out
to anyone else? Why don’t I want to shamelessly keep bringing myself
before anyone else?
Why don’t I want to tell
all the world’s truths to anyone else? But don’t think I’m such a good girl though—I was quite mischievous, I am, and I will be, but the problem is, you know what’s happened
to me, these days I don’t even want to look at
anyone else. I’ve become an old woman!