Oh my!
Getting your “Good night” from yesterday first thing this morning has made my whole morning so auspicious!
I didn’t notice it last night. Sorry. I listened to the song you shared. Even though I don’t understand the first thing about music,
I still felt that little one can sing absolutely wonderfully. It looks like it was recorded quite simply on a mobile phone, yet it sounded extraordinary. It completely fills the heart when you listen to it. What will this boy become when he grows up!
Where did you find this? Thank you for sharing it with us. Today’s morning began beautifully with this song because of you. Because not only does he sing it so very well, but the lyrics too are so beautiful and precious.
Thank you.
After getting your “Good night” message this morning, I received another auspicious message.
A college teacher messaged that college is closed today, no classes. After so many days, I can lie in bed a bit longer in the morning. Then I listened to a really beautiful song. You know, a Vaishnava one.
A bhajan written in Gujarati. By Narsinh Mehta. Mahatma Gandhi used to listen to this bhajan every day
and sing it during prayer time. Haven’t you heard it? It’s because of you that I had such a beautiful morning! So my balcony’s red roses send you their good wishes. Though the roses aren’t actually mine, they’re from the house next door, but they’re right by my balcony. I think, ah, if only people’s hearts could be as beautiful as flowers, how beautiful the whole world would become!
Yesterday’s shared song was lovely. Hame aur jeene ki chahat na hoti. I saw that this favorite song of yours is beloved by many people.
Four Nepali girls live in the flat next to ours. One of them was also listening to the song this morning. I listened too. There are so many beautiful songs in Nepali as well. I really enjoy listening to Nepali songs too. Do you listen to any Nepali songs? In one of your statuses you wrote something like there are so many beautiful songs in Hindi, it would be good if one could understand the meaning of them all.
Someone commented on that saying there are beautiful songs in Bengali too. But you never said that Bengali doesn’t have beautiful songs, did you? So why didn’t you reply to that comment? From their words, it seems like you’ve done something wrong by saying Hindi songs are beautiful. I don’t think that just because we’re Bengali, we should only call Bengali beautiful and not be allowed to call any other language beautiful. Come on,
Bengali is already mixed with our blood. There will always be boundless love for Bengali throughout life, right? All beautiful things should be valued for their beauty. That doesn’t diminish one’s own beauty, I think,
rather it increases it. That poor person has no idea about the sheer volume of songs you’ve listened to and continue to listen to. If they did, they couldn’t have made such a lame comment.
That day you called me
princess—who were you meaning to say it to? Did you forget and end up saying it to me instead of the person you intended? How embarrassing!
A princess never grows old, you know. When she does, she becomes someone’s queen. Standing before the mirror, I think even if someone called me a princess’s handmaiden, that would be saying too much! You know, last night I had so many conversations with you in my mind. From evening right until the moment I fell asleep, I kept talking to you. ‘Your brain surpasses your age. You’re a princess in my eye.’ Reading this, I felt you were speaking the truth—what’s true in your eyes, at least! Right now I feel like making myself very happy! Actually, you’ve learned to say beautiful things to everyone. That’s good. Say there’s a man who’s dark-skinned and short too. Now if everyone keeps harping on about his darkness or making negative comments about his height right in his ears, then eventually he’ll start believing that because of his physical limitations, he really can’t achieve anything in life.
You love Sylhet so much! I was thrilled to hear it. I send you lots of love for this love of yours. Tell me, do you understand Sylheti? When I hear Sylheti anywhere outside of Sylhet, I can’t help but laugh. Like on television or now on Facebook too, many people have little conversations in Sylheti—it makes me laugh so much to see it. Though I speak it myself. Let me ask you a personal question. What happened between you and that Sylheti sister? Can’t you find her anymore? I felt bad hearing about it. She never got to know that you loved her too? Well, never mind. I had decided I wouldn’t ask you a single thing about your personal life. But hearing that upset me, so I couldn’t help asking. Okay, if you don’t like it, forget it. With matters like these, why is it, why is it that there’s nothing to be done! It doesn’t feel good! You can tell me whatever you feel like. Who would I tell anyway! You don’t have to worry about that. But for whatever reason, may your life never be one of suffering. I pray that whatever the cause, may it be eliminated and your life become very beautiful and happy. Keep strength in your heart and faith. Try a bit yourself and ask God for the rest. You’ll see, everything will work out. I really didn’t want to drag your personal life into this. Yet I’ve said so much. It wasn’t right. Sorry.
You know, I’m always listening to music! When I listen, I listen intensely, all day long. Whatever I like best, I listen to over and over. When I’m not listening, I don’t listen at all. I don’t know how much you listen or whether you listen constantly, but I know you listen to music fairly regularly. A little while ago, that Lata Mangeshkar song you shared—I’ve heard it many times. Though that was long ago. Hearing it again today after so many days felt wonderful. Thank you.
What did you post? This isn’t right at all. You’ve made me feel terrible. Though the responsibility for this sadness may be yours, I don’t want you to take on any blame. There’s no need to say anything about this either. No reply needed anymore. I’m feeling really awful now. What comes to mind about you right now—I want to say it all.
But I can’t bring myself to say it. If I could just let it out, it would feel better, my heart would lighten. It really would. From now on, if I need to tell you something about your writing, I’ll say it through your writing itself. I won’t say anything to you separately anymore. But I must thank you for one thing—you’ve avoided many of my personal matters, and for that I’m deeply grateful to you. What does this mean? Whether it means anything at all—I don’t even know. I like this quality of yours, so I thought I’d say it instead of keeping it hidden in my heart.
Since last night, I’ve been restless inside, wanting to tell you a few things. This morning the unease has reached such a peak that I simply must speak. These words keep spinning endlessly in my head. But I don’t have time to say them now—I’ll be late for college. This afternoon, if I get some free time at the office, then I’ll speak.
What I want to say—I know you won’t like it. It will sound fake to you, irritating, and many other things besides. I know I have no right to speak to you this way either. Perhaps it’s not even proper to say it like this. But when talking with you, it’s difficult to calculate and measure every word so carefully. However, before I speak about that matter, what I want to say is this: like many other men, you are quite selfish. Why I’ve said this—I hope you understand perfectly well. Many people say to men: you’re not a woman, so you can never understand or feel what women feel. The pain of women, their desires, sorrows, and the emotions that touch their dreams—you write about many characteristics of women that have much resemblance to reality. But the greater truth is this: beyond what you write, women have a world of thought that is vast—a world that, it seems to me, you simply don’t understand. Sometimes it even seems you understand but choose not to understand. Most of your writing about women is monotonous. Many dimensions of women are absent there. One reason you don’t understand these things, or understand but choose not to understand them, might be that the women you think about or the ones you know are all more or less the same type.
Didn’t you once tell me about a girl who still comes to your mind, whose hand you long to hold as you walk, but you think these thoughts knowing full well that she will never return to your life, that she cannot be brought back—neither her return nor bringing her back is possible? What has gone, what person has left, belongs to another address now—for the rest of their life. Knowing she won’t return, yet remembering her, tenderly nurturing the wish to have her back in your heart, willingly embracing suffering at every moment—all of this is nothing but madness. Such thinking doesn’t suit you. Suffering this way doesn’t become you at all. It pains me to think you’re unhappy. Let me tell you a truth. If you had married that girl, your life would have been even more miserable. You would have suffered far more than you’re suffering now. I don’t know her, but I think that girl was very good, and that’s why you loved her so much—or perhaps it could be that because you loved her, I want to think well of her. But no matter how good she was, Sylheti girls cannot tolerate even the shadow of another woman near their beloved or the man they love. But you practically beat drums to announce how many girls around you arrange their feelings like offerings, how they keep telling you about their living garland of emotions without pause! I could give you many examples of how Sylheti girls cannot bear such things. When you do marry, I don’t understand how she will tolerate it. An unhappy married life doesn’t mean just two people being unhappy—it means two precious lives living meaninglessly. This also keeps loved ones around them miserable, and the new person who will come into these two unhappy lives in the future—that little one, seeing only sorrow from childhood, will never learn to recognize what happiness is. Such children don’t socialize properly, so their psychology doesn’t develop healthily either. You spread messages of happiness to everyone—so why can’t you arrange your own life? If you wanted, you could make this very life of yours happy and beautiful! Shall I tell you a harsh truth? Those who keep others happy usually have no happiness in their own lives. Those who make others laugh eventually forget how to laugh themselves. This is reality. If they can’t make themselves happy, why do they give others messages about being happy? No one in this world is completely happy—perhaps you’re the most unhappy among them, I’ll grant that. But you must still try to be visibly happy! Laugh much more yourself—even if you have to force it—and teach the reasons that make you feel unhappy to laugh too. But I have this strange notion: if you ever truly become happy, from that day you won’t be able to write anymore. Happy people can never create anything. All creation in the world comes from suffering. That’s why every creative person is sorrowful. Happy people are always ordinary people.
Don’t think so much!
Anyone who can, can be happy in any way at all. If you can remain unhappy, then why can’t you remain happy? If you tell me you can’t be happy, I won’t accept it. Instead of saying “I can’t, I won’t be able to,” just say you don’t want to be. You’re a wise person, you know a lot, you understand too. Let me tell you a story. A violinist’s
heart had become very melancholy. No matter what, his spirits wouldn’t lift. So what did he do? He took his violin and began walking down the village
path. Some children from poor families were playing in the street. He went before them, they gathered around him, and he began to play his violin. A person can pour their sorrows into the violin. All the melancholy that had accumulated in his heart began to dance on the violin’s strings. The violin’s
melody carried those children away to the roads of some unknown land. They all surrounded him from every side
and began dancing with joy. Seeing the happiness of these joyless children, in an instant all the
violinist’s sorrows fled somewhere! He too joined them in their dance. Sir,
why don’t you become such a
violinist! Why don’t you spread streams of joy among all people! Let the happiness of those around you
touch you too! I’ve shown too much boldness and said many unwarranted things to you. I’ve knowingly overstepped my bounds. I’ve lectured you with a lot of preachy talk. You’re not annoyed
with me, are you? Stay well
always. May happiness and more happiness come into your life in forms as beautiful as dreams; may you have a cheerful family.
You know, my mother says she’ll marry me off to some educated, well-bred boy
she finds suitable. Tell me, if I marry some educated boy, will I really live
in great happiness? Good family, good education too—does this mean that after marriage he’ll understand me,
keep me well? By the way, your punjabi turned out nicely. But here’s the thing, you know, if I made a ladies’ blouse from that fabric and wore it, it would look good on me. Why don’t you give me that! I’ll cut it up and make a blouse from it. And another thing.
Your hairstyle has become kangaroo-type now, though I’m not sure if kangaroos actually have hair on their heads. How did your hair get so fluffy like that? Do you listen to Mehdi Hassan’s songs? Cover your eyes with both hands. Words of lost days. Your meeting with me. If I was what I was then. In life, everyone is. Ah, what lively songs! The tune of ‘This life and death of mine is only yours, no one else’s’ sung by Bappi Lahiri is actually taken from that last song. Listen and
check for yourself.
I don’t know why I love you so much. I spent the two most beautiful days of my life. The joy and peace I felt being with you—I’ve never found that anywhere else. I never knew that all the good things in life hide so quietly within a little pain! Everything you said was true. If I hadn’t come to you, I would never have understood how tenderly you can love, how sweetly you can care. I could never have imagined that you would make tea and coffee for me with your own hands, that you would cleverly coax me to eat more and more. You know, everything felt like a dream to me. I was dreaming that if I could have your affection for my entire life, I wouldn’t need anything else! Do you understand? You are so good! I know I won’t have you every moment, but you’ll live in my heart always. You slept all night yesterday, so I gazed at you for a long time with unblinking eyes. I couldn’t look away, not even for a moment. I felt such longing, and I kept thinking—if only you could be mine alone, I wouldn’t want anything else! Sleep won’t come, so I’m sitting on the bed, and I felt like writing something. It’s been so long since I’ve written. I’m writing in Bengali—there might be spelling mistakes, but there’s no mistake in my love for you! Believe me, because I love you so much, it hurts terribly now. I miss my darling so much. I love you deeply, my golden one. Stay well.
Isn’t the dream beautiful?
Listen, have you ever skipped school? Well, you can bunk school, but you can’t bunk office? Come on, let’s quietly slip away for a day. You skip office, and I’ll skip my classes. Though really, you don’t have any seniors at your office, no one will say anything to you. That won’t be as much fun! Legitimate pleasures have less thrill. Don’t they say these things don’t work without a little hide-and-seek? But then again, you have so many problems—this person might see, that person might see, so much worry! This is the trouble with familiar faces. Listen, I’ll disguise you, how about that? So no one can recognize you. A beard and mustache would work, right? And maybe some eyebrows? You’ve already visited all the places around here, and I haven’t been to so many places either. But we won’t go to any of those places. We’ll go to a char region. The char areas look so beautiful on rainy days. Rain drumming all around, you and I sitting in a boat in the middle of the river. You know, I can sing at the top of my voice! Pouring rain, rousing song! Isn’t that wonderful? Truly an extraordinary feeling. The river water seems to dance to the rhythm of the rain. I had this experience once. In Brahmanbaria, on the Meghna River. If you haven’t had this experience, then I’d say you’ve missed something really significant. That time you weren’t beside me, this time you will be. By the way, I don’t know how to swim. You know how, right? I don’t think you do. Wise and learned people don’t know how to swim. Though I’m not wise, I still don’t know. Hee hee hee. Walking barefoot on the char feels wonderful too. Would you be able to walk like that holding my hand! You even wear sandals in the bedroom all the time. But maybe you could walk like that just one day for me. Would it be very difficult? I know, it pains you just thinking about it. Alright, never mind, you won’t have to suffer so much. If I see you in pain, it’ll pain me too. No need, you delicate little doll! You walk with your shoes on, I’ll walk barefoot. I love wearing alta, but they don’t let me wear it at home. I’ll wear it that day, okay? And a taro-leaf colored sari. I don’t know why this color suddenly came to mind. There, will you buy me bangles from some street vendor? Glass silk bangles? I’ll wear bangles up to my arms and roam around with you.
Listen, they say there are lots of grasshoppers on the char—will you catch one for me? I promise I won’t hurt it or keep it. I’ll give it a kiss and immediately let it fly away, okay? Well then, will you let me hold your hand? Holding your hand, walking along the riverbank, getting soaked in the rain, and listening to your songs. When the rain stops, we’ll have a picnic there, yes? You’ll make the stove, and I’ll cook in clay pots. Then I’ll serve you food on banana leaves. You’ll eat with relish and I’ll keep looking at you. Feed me a little too, won’t you? Oh, if I could have such a day, there’d be nothing left to want for in life. Just thinking about it feels so wonderful! I know, reading all this is making you irritated or sad. Hee hee hee.
Ugh, I don’t like this. What a terrible habit I’m developing!
I keep wanting to talk to you all the time. Is this some kind of disease? A mental illness? I don’t know. Maybe it is. Every day I deliberately make myself sicker with longing! What kind of life is this! What kind of person am I! I want to love you more and more. And with each passing moment I’m loving you more than before, the pull growing stronger every moment. Why is this happening?
It’s all your fault—you’re deliberately indulging me. When I told you I love you, couldn’t you have scolded me even once?
Couldn’t you have gotten angry and said,
“Hey girl, this loving me business won’t do. Don’t you dare love me ever! Watch it!” Or you could have said, “Don’t ever bother me again! I don’t have time to listen to all this nonsense.” But no, you went and said the opposite:
“Love you too.” What kind of response is that! Why are boys like this? Why can’t they reply to “love you” with “hate you” the way girls do? They won’t do that—they’ll just blurt out “love you too” without thinking!
You rotten boy,
didn’t I tell you not to say you love me unless you really, truly mean it? Then why do you keep saying it? You do love me a little bit more, don’t you? Hee hee hee. Do you know what I dreamed today? I dreamed—well, I had this dream today. Seventy-one girls proposed to you, and you accepted fifty-two of those proposals! And I was having a huge fight with one of them. I really let loose in that fight—now it makes me laugh.
What do you think? Am I quarrelsome?
Hee hee hee. But here’s the thing—
why do I remember the exact number of your girlfriends so clearly? I should have forgotten all that dream stuff! Such a funny dream, and you’d probably call it “a devil’s dream!” What? Didn’t you think that? Well, it worked out perfectly—
one devil got to see another devil in a dream. Hee hee hee.
Am I starting to babble again? You have no idea how much I can talk! I mean, how much I used to be able to talk. I could talk nonstop for hours and hours without getting tired at all.
Such a difference between that me and this me! Now I don’t even want to talk. Though when I write, look how much I say—things I could never tell you face to face. Why can’t I, tell me? I should be able to.
The truth is, you can write down anything, but you can’t say it out loud. Nothing gets stuck on the keyboard, but somehow everything gets stuck in your mouth. Someone you could scold endlessly online—if you met that same person face to face, you might not be able to say anything at all, might not even be able to approach them. That’s just how it is!
Listen…wouldn’t it be wonderful if you and I could be together? I love your mischief so much!
I used to think you were really angry and serious all the time. I never imagined that same you could be so playful!
Such a child! When you act mischievous like a kid, I want to pinch your cheeks. Oh, my little darling, my sweet precious one!…Ahh, how happy this makes me…….
Do you know
why I’m afraid of you?
Are you some tiger or bear?
I’m afraid that if I say something wrong or do something
to annoy you, you might block me! Then I’d just die of heartbreak! I’m just a
little child, after all. I say so many foolish things, I’m such a bother! If you get angry, just scold me, but please don’t block me! Okay? Sweet darling, I love you so much.
Hey you little rabbit,
do I seem
cat-like to you? What are all those meows about,
huh? If I’m a cat, then you’re the cat’s fluffy little kitten. Haven’t you seen a kitten? Nothing else
in the world could be more enchanting. You’re that enchanting fluffy little one. Did you eat tonight? I’m craving to eat from your hands. Just like that first day,
when you fed me.
Remember? That day in your
kitchen, I burned my hand trying to fry an egg. I didn’t show you. You would have laughed
and said, “People actually burn their hands
doing such a tiny task!” What can I do, tell me—I’m just not used to it. I can’t cook like you either. But don’t worry, I’ll learn. I won’t make you cook for me!
Hee hee hee.
Hey listen,
will you show me all your books
sometime? Don’t worry,
I won’t take them, just want to look. Just seeing them will soothe my soul. Books are something very
dear to me. You know what I think—the more books someone has, the better a person they are. You need a good heart to buy books. So tell me, how many people as good as you could there be! But how would I see them? You’ve kept all your books at your house. And
if I go to your house, your wife will surely give me a thorough beating with shoes, with brooms, with whatever kind of beating there is………I mean, after your marriage and all! Here’s what you could do—take pictures of all the books and bring them, I’ll just look at those, how about it?
Hey there, you fluffy
cat, what are you up to? You never think of me even once, do you? Of course you wouldn’t. I’m not that important after all. You know, I think of you all day long? As soon as I wake up, before anything else, I grab my phone and peek at your page, and even if I don’t find any new messages from you in my inbox, I still read the old ones before getting up. Sometimes when I wake up to find your ‘good morning’ message right there, what can I say—the whole day just feels so wonderful! And if there’s a little love emoji with it, then there’s nothing more to ask for. You send me one message, and I read it a hundred times. No no, much more than that! I keep reading it, keep reading it. My whole day passes thinking about you. Whatever I do, you keep spinning around in my head. Tell me, why does this happen? I know I’ll get nothing but pain from this, yet I can’t pull myself away. Why can’t I? I should have been able to, shouldn’t I? I’ve grown up after all! This childishness doesn’t suit me anymore!
But look, day by day I’m becoming even more
childish. My conscience tells me once to step back, but my heart gives ten different excuses ten times over and says, I can’t! You rotten boy! You’re a bug.
A cockroach! You sit in my head all day going buzz-buzz-buzz, and slowly this bug is taking over the space where my brain should be. I already have so little brain to begin with, I’m such a simple person—if there’s even less left,
what will happen then! This is not
fair, you know? Must all the brains stay only in your head?
Hey there, cockroach—
listen, I absolutely hate cockroaches, I’m scared of them, they make me feel sick just looking at them. How I had to dissect those things in school and college—even thinking about it now makes me shudder! But calling you a cockroach makes even that creature seem so cute! Aww, what a cute little bug! My baby cockroach! Hee hee hee! Hey, are you scared of cockroaches? If not, why aren’t you?
The name ‘cat’ is absolutely perfect for you. You’re such a kitten! A tall little meow-baby! Hee hee!
Standing next to you makes me feel like a little lamb. Even standing on my toes, I can’t reach you. Ugh!
Am I really that short? Five foot four,
hmm. Still can’t reach you. From now on
if I have to stand next to you, I’ll stand on a chair. But in one way it’s good—when you have to talk to me, you have to lean down.
That’s kind of a benefit, isn’t it? You tall thing, I love wrapping my arms around your neck. I love it so
so so much. Do you remember that day…? If you don’t remember, forget it, I won’t tell you. Even if you don’t remember, it’s fine. Let me remember! Do you know what I like most about you? You don’t smoke cigarettes. I can’t even begin to explain
how much that disgusts me. You’re such a good little meow-baby. My sweet little tickly cockroach baby! Hee hee
hee. Don’t get all flustered hearing so many pet names for you! I have many more. I won’t tell you now,
I’ll tell you slowly, bit by bit.
Listen to this—
I’ve made a decision.
I’ve decided I won’t marry anyone.
I’m not joking, I’m being
completely serious. You want to know why? Because I’ve started thinking of you as my husband. I’m not doing it on purpose, the thought just
comes to me naturally. So what am I supposed to do, tell me! How can I bring
a rival wife into my home now, tell me! Hee hee hee!
The thing is, how am I supposed to
live with another person? You tell me!
I’d have to act for the rest of my life, with myself
and with that man too. What’s the
point! I can just live alone. You live alone, don’t you. Do you have any problems? Of course not! How beautifully you live alone, content in your own way,
right? Will you teach me how to live well all by myself?
Come visit my place sometimes,
I’ll cook for you and feed you, hmm? You’ll come, won’t you? Or will you be so terribly busy that you’ll just forget about me?
You can’t forget me,
mister! I spend all day dying thinking about him, and he’s going to
forget about me! If you forget, go ahead, I’ll make sure to remind
you again. And if you still don’t remember, then I’ll get angry, I’ll get so angry I’ll
bite you. Then I’ll come home crying. And I’ll never go to you again. Tell
me, will you really truly forget about me? When I said I’ll never go to you again,
I was just saying that in anger. I’m
actually quite shameless. When you love someone, you become shameless, brazen, without modesty. No matter how angry you get,
how annoyed you become, I’ll still keep coming back to
bother you. That’s the truth. Oh my, I see you’re making me
lose my shame too. What is this all about? You’re such a…!
Bhromor…who do
you belong to? Why does this happen, tell me? Why do people always love the wrong person? Why did I have to fall in love with the wrong person? Tell me, is there really a right
and wrong in love? Why should
there be? Why should love be reserved for only one specific
person? Why should you be forced to love someone you don’t love from your heart? Why should you be forced to push out of your heart the one your heart truly loves?
Is that even possible?
Or is it just a social
convention? Why do society, religion, family want to bind people’s hearts with all these
rules, tell me! Why can’t I love you? Why are you the wrong person for me? Just because of these few conventions? Well, who created these conventions? God? He sent everyone here as equals, so why would He make new rules to
separate us? Can you tell me? I think He didn’t do any of this—people created it all for their own selfish
interests. When their own interests are threatened, they’ll change those rules again, that’s it! God’s rules aren’t meant to be changed, are they? Society is an utterly selfish organization.
I’m thinking so much,
aren’t I? And then the next moment I think, why am I thinking about all this? Oh dear, what am I even saying! It’s going right over my own head. When you fall in love, you go
crazy—this is a symptom of that. What nonsense I’m
talking! Listen, I fell for you long ago, I loved you all over
again. Do you understand anything?
I saved that post of yours—the one you made when you were angry at me. For the first few days, I’d read it all day long and feel hurt. I still read it often. Do you know why? To remind myself. I keep reminding myself that I’m nothing to you, that I have no importance, that you dislike me even more than you dislike any other ordinary person. But even so, somehow I feel that you are everything to me, that you matter most to me, that I love you more than anyone else in this world. Why do I? I think it’s because of that innate human attraction to forbidden things, isn’t that right? You’re neither drawing me close nor pushing me away. Why are you doing this? On one hand you say I’m nothing to you, on the other you keep indulging me. But why? Do you really enjoy seeing me in pain? Love is just rice and lentils to you, isn’t it? So many people love you, you have no shortage of girlfriends either, so it doesn’t really mean much to you. But for me, love isn’t rice and lentils—it’s everything. Tell me honestly, have you ever truly loved anyone? Tell me the truth! You can lie so well, you know? I can tell when it’s a lie, though. But even knowing, I don’t really know. I believe your lies are true too. I convince myself they’re true. These truthful-sounding lies of yours hurt me so much. Listen, you should lie in such a way that no one can tell, so it sounds true when they hear it. You can’t do that. That’s a good thing. You can’t do bad things well. You’re a good person, so good deeds suit you, not bad ones. Understand, mister? Are you angry now? Are you getting mad at me? Okay fine, sorry. I’m holding my ears, will that do? Do I have to twist my nose too? If so, you do it for me. Hee hee hee.
Why do you have so much patience? So much! You’re a different kind of person. Very different. Without getting close to you, no one could recognize you from the outside. Those who say all sorts of nasty things about you—if they spent even one day with you, I can swear that their entire way of thinking would change. I want to know you more. I want to understand the depths of your mind, I want to comprehend every unspoken word in your heart. Will you give me that opportunity? I know it’s wrong to ask for such a chance. I’m such a strange person too! What am I even saying? By what right am I saying this! Where my claim is zero, there I see my desires are sky-high! Does that ever happen? Why do I keep dreaming impossible dreams, knowingly chasing mirages! Why am I doing this? Can you tell me? I wanted to love you without any expectations, without wanting anything in return. Then why am I thinking these things? No matter how much you dislike me, I will still love you. No matter how far you push me away, I will still love you. No matter how much you insult me, I will still love you. Whatever you do to me, I will only love you, love you and love you. I love you so much, my little baby gullu billu!
Today my heart is heavy.
Terribly heavy. Why it’s heavy, I won’t say. I keep thinking of you. I want to come to you. I want to hold you close.
When I hold you close, all my pain, all my sadness, everything just melts away. You must know some kind of magic,
otherwise how could this be? Today I’m missing you so much. How wonderful it would have been if you were here beside me. If only you knew what peace there is in falling asleep holding you close! Tell me, why am I like this? When my heart is heavy, I think of someone
I cannot reach,
someone whose company I cannot even
hope for—and that’s foolishness. I know this too, that it will only make my sadness worse, like pouring oil
on fire! Yet still I think of you, still I miss you.
Won’t you tell me how to chase away your ghost
from my head? You just keep buzzing around in there all the time. Why do you do this, tell me! You really enjoy causing me pain, don’t you? What if you caused me just a little less pain! Don’t indulge me so much! You keep indulging me,
lifting me higher and higher. Of course you’ll lift me up, but I’m the one who’ll have to come down alone—how will I manage to climb down by myself? Wouldn’t it be better not to climb up at all rather than fall so hard
from such a height? But I can’t control myself. You’ll have to tell me some way
to forget you. Please tell me! The more I try to forget you, the more I consciously attempt it, the more intensely you come to mind!
“I keep listening to this song
over and over, and keep telling
myself……….no, he didn’t love me,
and I didn’t love him either,
don’t love him, and never will.
Does any of this make
sense?
Does he still listen to this song
when his heart is heavy, the way he used to? Does he just keep listening?
…………And send it to his wife saying,
Here, angry monkey, listen to this!
Let him do whatever
he wants! What’s it to me! And why am I even thinking about all this? Strange! Why am I so shameless?”
Who am I writing all this to?
Anyway, I’ll go with “jo bhi baat bigar jaye, jo bhi mushkil par jaye.” Do you understand the meaning of this
song? That person of yours was supposed to have written it out for me ages ago! Didn’t he?
The world is so strange,
isn’t it? As if everyone is close, yet everyone is so distant! Why are people born? Why? To fight? Why are there so few women scientists? I haven’t even heard any names!
Why is there nothing more terrible than emotion! The truth is, you know, no one loves anyone else, people just want to possess something or someone in their own way! So what does that mean? All that talk about hearts and feelings is really nothing—it’s all just selfishness! Then tell me,
why is the pain of love felt so intensely
in the chest?
I’ve read your piece six times now! Before the distance and after. Today I feel like everyone has lost to you. You’ve defeated them all with just a flick of your finger! Sunil-Samaresh-Shirshendu—they all seem to sit stunned into silence! Even Rabindranath Tagore has failed! Yes, this is my insolence, my audacity, my disrespect on display, but I’m not speaking empty flattery—your writing today has left me powerless, and I keep feeling that they too have been drained of their strength. Thakurmoshai, can you see what your child has accomplished! You wrote so much about the heart, love, society, emotion, superstition—so many things—yet who has ever dared to speak a hundred and fifty such words in one unbroken breath? Tell me yourself—you created so much in your time, left behind such a legacy of creation that just witnessing it makes one’s bodily functions nearly cease from sheer awe! Whether the mind still works or not becomes impossible to tell! But what is the state of this new-age Rabindranath, what can he do, how can he do it—I cannot even fathom! I beg forgiveness! I know I’m unworthy even of your punishment, no one can be compared to you, but I couldn’t help myself! I’m sorry for the audacity of drawing such parallels! You are the master of such formidable creation, to understand you one must undertake rigorous practice, but what happened today—even sitting there in the beyond, are you not astounded? Put your hand on your heart and tell me! Surely and undoubtedly you must be!
I’ve just listened to ‘Hai Apna Dil To Awara’ seventeen times in a row. In Hemanta Kumar’s voice. You know Hemanta Kumar, don’t you? Hemanta Mukhopadhyay is known as Hemanta Kumar outside Calcutta. I played the song on my harmonica. Such an extraordinary tune! You probably were never told that I know how to play the harmonica. I heard this song somewhere in childhood. Never heard it again after that. But the melody stayed lodged in my head. When I found the song today, I was amazed! This was my familiar friend, kindred to my soul! When some melody heard long ago returns somehow, what a euphoric current flows through the heart! Life’s little wishes taking so long to be fulfilled… it’s amazing when you think about it! We really don’t need much to feel joy! Wordsworth comes to mind… The music in my heart I bore, / Long after it was heard no more. Melody, fragrance, and touch never truly disappear. They remain somehow in some corner of the subconscious! Now I’m listening to ‘Kisi Ki Muskurahaton Pe Nishaar.’ In Mukesh’s voice. Before this, ‘Chalo Ek Baar Phir Se Ajnabi Ban Jaye Hum Dono.’ Mahendra Kapoor’s. I won’t stop today. I’ll make myself cry to my heart’s content—with joy! Ah!
Tell me, Kuhak, what you said in that piece the other day… about that gentle caress done that way… would it be very sinful to caress like that? I feel like crying so much…
My heart yearns to touch your feet
and offer reverence. I must say this—Arjuna sought forgiveness from Lord Krishna
for his familiar conduct. Arjuna’s behavior, his words and conversations, all that he did was out of friendship, and later when he came to recognize and understand Krishna,
he begged forgiveness from the Lord—you know this
well. I too seek your forgiveness. Forgive me
for my foolishness,
for my casual behavior,
for my anger, for asserting my claims, for my lack of judgment, and again for my inability to express myself, for anything at all, and for troubling you. And for what I understood yet pretended not to understand,
or pretended not to grasp
or refused to comprehend—for all this I am penitent. Perhaps if we meet, I too
may not be able to kneel like Kunti’s son and beg forgiveness, or perhaps you yourself would not
allow it. I seek forgiveness for failing to make proper use of those precious moments
in your presence.
To your face I address you formally,
but in secret,
in hidden corners, how much
resentment and wounded pride I have expressed, how many wrongs I have committed all this while! Even now I continue to address you familiarly! For this
audacity I am repentant—please forgive me. I am but a lowly fool without sense! Keeping this failing in mind,
have mercy and forgive me even if out of compassion.
At this very moment,
with God as my witness, I say that in this world, gratitude
and seeking forgiveness—these two emotions
I have never expressed so deeply to anyone other than God. To express so much is itself
a momentous thing! I rarely seek forgiveness; saying sorry doesn’t come naturally to me. I don’t
ask for forgiveness with my lips, though most of the
time I do give thanks. Apart from God, I have never truly sought forgiveness from anyone else, nor expressed sorrow or remorse—I’ve never even said sorry to my parents at home.
Only to you have I given heartfelt gratitude, again and again, and that too aloud. I came to know you when I was helpless, and for
the chance I had to do so, I have
thanked God repeatedly. In my eyes, if anyone in this world stands supreme
apart from God, it is you. So I seek
your forgiveness for all the times I unknowingly showed you
disrespectful behavior. If this has been wrong, then I am ready to
take responsibility for it. I consider you equal to Rabindranath; in my eyes you have elevated yourself to that level.
You have remained as you are all this while, and I have given you a place
next to God, but if somehow
my writing reveals that I have
made you equal to God, and if I must face
punishment for this, then so be it.
I am ready to accept punishment, but for the way I have
worshipped you in my limited
understanding, please forgive me for the spread of that trivial
knowledge. Whether God will forgive me or not, I do not
know, but since the divine soul
dwells within every being, and whoever loves a living soul serves
God—speaking from this true knowledge with complete
honesty, wherever I place you beside God or
elsewhere, I believe I have
truly found the divine soul, that supreme spirit before whom one can
bow one’s head, from whom one can seek
forgiveness, whom one can hold
close to one’s heart; so the most important
thing, and the first of all things, is—please forgive
me. True, I didn’t want you, but the thirst for having you in my heart and that infinite longing—that too is no small transgression! I seek forgiveness for wanting you so intensely without
wanting you at all. I know I will want you again, and when a mistake is made
repeatedly and deliberately, there is no
forgiveness for such error. I myself never forgive anyone for such mistakes, yet I seek
your forgiveness. As I said, even if out of compassion,
please forgive me!
(Today and the past
few days existed outside all the calendars of the world. These days were mine. This wealth of mine
has no numerical name.)