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"How's the day been treating you?"
"I'll start by taking time into my own hands."
"Fair enough."
"Then suddenly—rain!"
"Why doesn't the sun come bursting through like that?"
"Perhaps it does, for people who love the sun."
*'Why doesn't the sun come suddenly?'*...Perhaps the company of flawed people doesn't sit well.
"What do decent people look like? Don't they cast shadows?"
"I've heard that once a pure soul walked this earth, one with no shadow at all. But ordinary people like us are solid, impenetrable—how could we not cast shadows!"
"I have a feeling that for all my questions, I'll get pristine answers from you."
"Nila, 'Tales with Twilight' may not hold your time, but perhaps it will touch the generations a little. Purity, to me, seems an awfully relative thing."
"If people were pure, the Creator probably wouldn't have sent them into this world at all—there'd be no need! What is pure could have stayed in its pure place from the beginning, no?"
"I can agree with that view."
"But what's your own opinion?"
"I've never seen myself anywhere close to spotless clarity. Most of the time I've seemed like an ordinary man; now it feels like I'm utterly dark. How beautiful are the people of this world!"
"And yet I've seen one beautiful person who told the truth exactly as it is. I've seen many who believe, and they're absolute! The rest follow flawed grammar!"
"Self-satisfied people! Yes, Nila, they can exist. But if another person happens to see their imperfect grammar, that too is their right."
"Perhaps. But to stand on that understanding, refuse to believe in changing yourself, and then try to remake someone else from their very essence—that doesn't feel to me like it falls within anyone's right."
"That's what philosophy keeps saying as its final word...know thyself. But when you dive deep into finding yourself, it feels like time slips through your fingers!"
"Well said. I'll remember that."
"Every person, it seems to me, is a separate island unto themselves."
"And that island becomes a waystation for migrant birds—they fill it with greenery for a while, then leave. Then comes the time for new arrivals."
"What a beautiful way to put it. Each person has their own ecology. That's why the most difficult book in the world to read is called a human being."
"Exactly. Yet some books, even if difficult, make you want to read them again and again."
"With people, you think: *I've figured them out, I've translated them*—and the next instant you think: *Wait, am I right?* A wavering moment stands before you!"
"Yes, and sometimes you find that even if the translation isn't wrong, the deeper meaning stands entirely different."
"There was a time when wine and smoke were dear to me. Now it seems that time wasn't without meaning—or perhaps I was in love with something terribly ugly. I'm just letting you peek through the window of my own darkness, so you don't make the mistake of thinking that wrong beauty is beauty."
"I believe in one thing: in this uncertain life, simply being well—however one can be—that's the final word. No one's opinions or judgments change that."
"A fine and genuine sensibility. I had a time I loved deeply...walking home alone through dark alleys, drenched in the fine drizzle of deep night..."
"What a lovely account! Quite beautiful, really. I haven't lived it, but just hearing it moves me."
"Tell me—what kind of life could you have with Nila in these stories? I'm thinking your moments must be steeped in such beauty."
"Why do you think that?"
- Some people, you see, if they don't cultivate a refined sense of beauty, end up waiting in the complicated ugliness of life's poem.
- Well said. I, for one, find beauty even in a hundred kinds of ugliness.
- Then you must be an undiscovered soul!
- Hidden beauty is the truest beauty!
- Today I listen, you speak.
- This morning I finished the third book by Sidney Sheldon. I found several kinds of feeling in one book.
- Such as?
- The beginning stirs both sorrow and disgust at once. The middle section profoundly inspires. The ending speaks of victory through defeat and, simultaneously, the multidimensional story of love.
- Sorrow and disgust are kindred. People succumb quite easily, though they deny it in roundabout ways. People live precisely because the final measure of defeat might perhaps be written in victory—that's their wretchedness! Love is multidimensional because it has many hidden doors.
- Some people are born with multidimensionality, and some are forced into it. That's what I think. And that itself exists in different degrees!
- Hmm, that too is a dimension of thought.
- How are the times treating your generation—you people?
- In the joy of disorder.
- That's life too.
- But Mother says life shouldn't go on like this!
- Life doesn't follow anyone's script, you see. It's terribly whimsical. It walks its own path.
- Sometimes I try to steer life a bit according to Mother's order, but no, it goes its own way! Then Mother says I haven't grown up.
- If only we'd never grown up. A pessimist lives in happiness all his life—would you believe that?
- A pessimist knows happiness. The person who says he's happy—if you ask him, "What is happiness?"—he won't be able to say anything.
- You've thrown out a heavy thing quite suddenly!
- Surely you can bear it.
- Will you believe I'm actually a foolish sort of person?
- Poetry doesn't say that. How can I believe what poetry won't?
- You said it yourself—I write poetry! How do I explain that I'm merely playing around with words, nothing more?
- You actually paint life in the form of poetry, and that says a great deal!
- What are you doing?
- A little sketching.
- You like to draw, I see? Abstract? Or natural?
- So far natural... um... mixed might be fair to say.
- But that's wonderful company in solitude.
- Terribly so! Whenever I get a moment, I sit down.
- Then you're quite fortunate! Tell me the story of the picture.
- A hundred-year-old fountain.
- A tale of peril across many lives.
- Ugh! I only tell stories of peril! Today I saw an old woman—I saw her eyes... the moment I got home, I felt like it... I had to paint!
- You want to read people, is that it?
- I try to understand them.
- Look then... an elderly woman walks silently, childhood lessons in hand... what did you see? Tell me.
- What can I say! If I were elderly, I could see myself. Now I see you...
- Not badly put. I, for my part, see an indomitable desire to overcome deprivation.
- There's no end to deprivation in some people's lives. The saddest person feels it just as much as the happiest does. I never really think about this matter.
- Your philosophy is sound.
- Do you love flowers?
- I won't say no. But how true that would be—that's a subject for research.
- You know, I once had a teacher, or a guru, and whatever anyone would give him, he'd say, "Never give me flowers. They make me bleed."
- Sounds philosophical!"This could be dissected in a philosophical chat. Remember what I said—someday you'll find your own meaning in it."
- "I search for it often..."
- "Do you love rivers?"
- "I haven't spent much time near one, but I wouldn't say I don't love them. Even now I often feel the urge to sit by a riverbank. Though I never actually have. When I see a river, for some reason I think—it's like a forsaken soul!"
- "Not just a soul," I say. "A river is classical beauty itself—it carries all filth, yet remains untouched by it. If only we could find humans like that!"
- "Then one day you must spend the twilight hours with a river. Our river here—you can never get it to yourself. Always crowded with people."
- "But there's something, Neela... you're quite a bit older than your years. Sometimes that creates complications."
- "I can hide quite well, actually!"
- "Can you understand urban anguish?"
- "What is urban anguish like?"
- "If I tell you, you'll just say again that you haven't really lived city life."
- "My world is very small. I see it somewhat through my mother. Watching her urban life, sometimes I think I'd never want to live like that myself. And then I think she's terribly happy—managing that city existence!"
I've always felt life has an excess of suffering. The idea that you have your own life—there's no room for that here. It's like food; you have to divide your own life equally and give it away to others.
- "I can't see your eyes, Neela! You're so small, yet you speak of anguish!"
- "I see people, their lived lives, their eyes, the lines on their foreheads."
- "Yes, that's where people dwell. But still, there are hidden lives, stories there too, Neela."
- "If those hidden stories didn't exist, I think people would find it terribly hard to live! Consolation—at least something that's only mine... do you think everyone feels like that?"
- "Yes, those exist in the lives of stories, but the stories of life never remain private."
- "Have you read Shirshendu?"
- "No, I haven't."
- "Try reading 'Parthib'! I think you might find yourself there. For some reason, I feel Shirshendu saw you."
- "Tell me something about yourself."
- "A strange emptiness."
- "Is it around you that's empty? Or within?"
- "Life is remarkably incomprehensible."
- "I spent time with a river today."
- "What's its name?"
- "Shitalakshya. It was grand once, now it's dying!"
- "Is it youthful now, at this time of year?"
- "You could call it a darkened youthfulness."
- "Not like your secret sorrow, then!"
- "I have no sorrow of my own. Everything I have belongs to others. I can bear sorrow silently. Yes, but I'm afraid. Weary from walking the path."
- "Sorrow is a feeling; it can certainly be for others. But life has its own attic of personal sorrow."
- "When will you read 'Parthib'?"
- "I'll get the book and read it tomorrow."
- "It might take a week to finish. After that, perhaps I'll be talking to a different Neela!"
- "Will you like this different Neela?"
- "Look, once you read it, you'll understand. But the name 'Neela,' I say again—it's tormented!"
- "Then you could call me something else."
- "No, keep the torment. Didn't you say life becomes insipid without hidden sorrow? So let there be a new Neela then, even if Neela isn't for everyone."
- "What can I say! You're a remarkable person!"
- "No, Neela."I have so much darkness in me, but what I no longer have is time of my own. I exist solitary in the crowd of people…I've said too much!
—Those whose lives hold only light are merely people, not extraordinary ones.
—A life without attachment can be expressed as…I am alive.
—At least let it be that for oneself!
—Tell me, Nila, there's a song that goes something like 'A river, like a woman.' But can a woman also sanctify life?
—That's a difficult thing to say! I think there may be some truly pure women in this world who actually can.
—What might the music of a life without attachment sound like? Can you share your thoughts?
—In my own case, what I do or believe is this: even in moments of the cruelest fate, when hope itself seems to abandon you, I find some reason to be happy—any reason will do. Like when my mother was terribly ill, beyond all hope, when I was in class ten. That day, the first champaka flower bloomed in my garden, that was it! That single reason was enough for me to be well.
—You can call me your younger sister!
—What are you saying! So this is how the elders are! If only I could have a heart so vast someday!
—Nila, does one become greater simply by growing older in years? One who grows in understanding—that one is the true elder. Come now, are we not contemporaries, don't you think?
—Contemporaries! I could never presume so much!
—Then, we shall remain unseen to each other all our lives, but we can be bound in the friendship of words.
—Of course we can be friends. How fortunate for me. Yes, but why must we remain unseen?
—Because on the banks of the Shitalakshya, we shall never sit face to face.
—Why must all the beautiful moments of the world be so forbidden!
—These liquid moments of today, one day we shall forget them.
—What then should I keep?
—As you wish.
—You're burdening me with the choice, I'm a careless person, I'll surely lose my way at the crossroads of life.
—Then let me say this. For you, there is no right or wrong time, no keeping or forgetting. From today onwards, I welcome you for all eternity!
—Even with all you give me, Nila, I shall still return home utterly empty, because of that thought…'Why must all the beautiful moments of the world be forbidden!'
Now, bit by bit, I'll grow empty. Be well, Nila!
—After this, nothing more can be said. Be well!
—Let this be a full moon's festival of death.
—I want to see the full moons live!
—Read "Parthib"—perhaps you'll find answers to many questions.
—Yes, I will.
—Our small story ends here…!
—All right…!