Thought: Three Hundred Thirty
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Shall I tell you a story?
A story of life.
(Those with weak hearts, please do not read this story.)
A boy and a girl. They loved each other. One day they decided to get married. Both went to the registrar’s office and got married. On their way back, their car had an accident.
Then………
The boy died on the spot!
The girl was admitted to the hospital. When she regained consciousness, she asked about the boy.
Everyone kept trying to console her, but the girl could not be calmed in any way. She just kept crying and saying, “Why did I listen to him! Why did I listen to him and not sit on the right side of the auto! Why did he have to leave!” Her bitter weeping made the air in that closed room heavy.
The girl was nearly going blind from crying!
At one point she said, “All right, fine, we got married but couldn’t build a life together—give me his blood-stained kurta, I’ll make my home with that. I’ll spend the rest of my life carrying his memory in my heart.”
The girl took that blood-stained kurta and went home, holding it to her chest with infinite tenderness.
After several more days like this………
One day the girl’s father had a dream in which a man with a terrifyingly strange voice came to him and said in a hoarse whisper, “Give me the kurta, or you will all die!”
The first time, thinking it was just his mind playing tricks, he didn’t think much about it. The second day he had the same dream. After having the same dream for several consecutive days, he told his wife about this nightmare. His wife revealed that she too had been having this dream for several days but hadn’t told anyone out of fear. Then together they told their daughter about it. The daughter revealed that she too had been having this same dream for days.
They were all in great trouble then. The matter filled them with terror.
Then one day.
Suddenly in the middle of the night, the girl heard a loud knocking at her door. She didn’t open it out of fear. Someone outside began knocking even harder. When she was forced to open the door, the girl saw standing before her the same strange man from her dreams!
Her blood froze with terror!
The man began speaking in the same hideous voice as in the dream: “Give me the kurta, or you will all die!”
How the girl wept at hearing this!
That kurta was her beloved’s only remaining memory!
It was by holding it to her heart that she had been able to live all these days!
What would she live for if she gave it away!
The girl refused to give up the kurta. And the man would not leave without taking it!
At one point, the woman clasped her hands together and said through endless tears, “Isn’t there any way to keep it?”
Seeing such desperation in the woman, the man felt a stir of compassion. He said,
“There is one way.”
The woman cried out,
“What is that way?”
The answer came,
“If you can wash away the bloodstains clinging to the kurta, only then will I leave with you this final memento of your husband!”
Then the woman went to wash the kurta. But no matter what she did, she could not remove the stains from the kurta!
The man now laughed with a terrible sound and said,
“Couldn’t do it, could you?
Then give me the kurta now!”
The woman began weeping like a madwoman again. She said,
“Please give me one more chance!
I cannot live without this kurta!”
The man smiled gently and said,
“Alright,
see if you can try!”
The woman tried with all her strength to scrub the kurta and lift the stains. But alas, the stains would not come out!
Finally, helpless and desperate, the woman fell at the man’s feet and wept, asking how to remove the stains………
Then the man said………
The way is
.
.
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.
.
Surf Excel, isn’t it!
Moral of the story:
If stains can become something wonderful,
then stains are better after all!
Reflection: Three hundred thirty-one
…………………………………
One.
I collect all the different-colored waters of sorrow in one vessel……at some point they overflow…….then I cannot quite tell—which colored water is flowing down…….I only know,
I must make room for new water…..still…..life keeps rushing forward…….
Morning is beautiful……morning spent with loved ones and dear ones—even more beautiful!
Blue sorrow. Blue water. Breathless. Harsh disbelief. The blurred horizon of conscious or unconscious desire……life is made of all this!
The neglect of odd hours……sun and stars walking together….to the heart…….saying something,
letting it speak…… who understands!
I feel like oiling someone’s hair really well……someone who takes no care of their hair at all, I want to tend to their hair. Instead of ordinary oil, I want to give them castor oil.
Why are desires like this!
For some people,
when they want to know something—right now, I need it,
just now—means just…just now! But,
for others,
when they ask, let it wait endlessly in eternal anticipation…Life—is different for each person!
Two.
The utterly small-minded ones, envying great people of high status with such agony, fighting tooth and nail,
by hook or by crook, if they can somehow reach that external position—they think they’ve become their equals!
That reaching someone’s external position means
becoming that great person or those great people—
these small-minded ones need so many years to understand this truth, alas!…they don’t even live half those years!
Three.
Life, truly sometimes comes to possess the qualities of rice…nothing happens even when it’s beaten, yet it dissolves at the slightest pressure…the loneliness of crowds weeps silently—within the loneliness of solitude…the clock keeps turning in the same circle…but time races toward infinity…alas…why can’t life be deactivated like Facebook!…suffering, anger, irritation create such tumult…the humiliation of dual existence—so terrible…let people live like they’re well… … …still!
Bamboo doesn’t understand melody…doesn’t understand song…but the bamboo flute understands…it…understands melody,
understands song…and understands…the heart!
No self-interest…so, after fulfilling self-interest,
there’s no rush to flee quickly either…I’ve done housework my whole life,
keep doing it—there was never anyone else to do the work—so much work! Now at this stage, whether there’s work or not—whatever it may be, there’s just no me within me!
Under work’s pressure I have no time, under idleness’s pressure I have no leisure.
Four.
“You haven’t heard,
you’ve felt. You are, after all, a child of humanity. Any healthy person is disturbed by that emotion in countless moments of life. Even the gods weren’t free from it.” Ah,
writers have infinite power to speak truth!
If I say,
I want to come…
Would you still say today…
Come then…
If you can…
At night—
To be together…
My beloved,
in the end you’ll have to be kept in my embrace!
I feel like ‘picking someone up and throwing them down!’ But if I lift them to throw them, I won’t want to let go! Then they’ll just stay in my arms! I want to sink two bites into the neck of all the world’s busyness and free myself!
Five.
As many lives as there are on earth—the earth is that many kinds…to each living existence—the world is different…someone’s familiar world is unfamiliar to another…no one matches anyone else…millions of lives—millions of worlds…
The earth’s only lifeless life…that can be loved madly—books.
How terribly easy it is to become unpleasant to people! Doing my work makes me laugh so much…when successful—joy…knows no bounds!
The neglect of odd hours…the sun and stars walking together…solitude has a silent power…solitude itself moves by a silent power…
Six.
Let no one be well like this……not everyone is someone,
that’s not the case. Some……no one at all! How terribly painful it becomes…..even more painful—when there’s nothing left to do but simply watch it all unfold…..is there truly nothing to be done!
I have no one. Lost and gone. I would search with a lamp,
but there’s no way. The lantern has no kerosene!
Sometimes, sleep and wakefulness—somehow feel the same…..
Let there be such a
‘someone’, who is not only theirs, but mine too. Whatever they wish, they will do
with their own
‘someone’,
not with mine. My
‘someone’—they must keep her in their care. If they cannot, then for a lifetime they must become mine. Then whatever care is needed, I myself will provide.
I simply long to take someone in my arms! What am I to do with such longing!
But how can I lift ** kilos? I’d have to learn weightlifting! Then,
if I find them somewhere,
I’ll lift them up and run and run and run……eyes
wet, heart wet……even thoughts become wet!
Seven.
When a hand rests on someone’s shoulder—I become theirs for that moment! This too, it seems, is life!
The bellows’ gasping…..the hammer’s ringing…..sparks flying everywhere……coal smoke……when you sharpen a blade, it doesn’t just gain edge—it wears away too…….if only someone could understand!
Perhaps no one can turn back a single death. Why should I die?
What’s the point!?
These things cannot be said.
Those who don’t understand that writers are not like their writings—
they suffer in one way, and those who do understand
suffer in another way…….
It would be nice if someone could be bound with a squirrel’s tail!
This would be their punishment. Not because they’ve done something,
but precisely because they’re doing nothing—for this
they shall be punished.
Three-fourths of the earth is water,
yet even when the sky is empty, rain falls from above to below, not from below to above……..not everything follows logic!
That’s when I want to
‘lift myself up and dash down’—when someone never picks up the phone,
and when they do, they only scold! And whenever they’re called, the phone is always on
waiting mode.
Eight.
The worst thing about having guests at home is—you can’t cry whenever you want……not being able to weep when the urge strikes feels like terrible subjugation to me.
Even an inch of distance becomes unbearable……baseless, selfless, pointless!
The world seems to care nothing for all desires……but that the feeling is not false—only one heart knows this!
Oh! What things…….so many…….what things I would have said! When there’s so much to say……one must remain silent……or truly someone seems to grip you by the throat!
Good thing I’ve kept all the words of my heart within my heart! Otherwise, the me inside me would have started scolding me right now!
In families, such problems arise
that family members suffer if they understand,
but if they pretend—that they understand nothing at all,
then too they suffer.
When I feel like scolding someone to tears, I need someone before me. Alas, no one remains,
everyone leaves!
Thought: Three hundred thirty-two
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One.
The hair had grown too long—that was the first thought that struck me upon seeing him. He looked completely disheveled. The urge to reach out and fix his hair with my hands… was simply overflowing!
Taking a tiny break from all that anger and hurt… what did I go and do… I cannot say!
I want to stretch someone’s cheeks and tear them apart. I want to hide the two torn pieces of cheek in the folds of a beloved book’s pages.
I had given the knife to cut lemons… the knife took a fancy to my thumb… there’s no value to suffering in this world! Damn!
I kicked suffering and threw it in the dustbin… but who will kick away the painful tasks I must perform?
Familiar stories, heard again and again… eventually become unfamiliar… can you tell me—why?
There’s someone I know. I feel like telling them… you are worse than the worst cockroach in the world!
Did you understand anything?… How many kisses I gave! How good I am!
Two.
During human illness or special treatment and mental anguish—one can sense the presence of nanoseconds… and happiness? It turns even years into nanoseconds!
Someone called me an
‘ill-mannered woman’!
So naturally my actions will be ill-mannered!
That’s why I call him at three in the morning!
I have to… it’s his fault!
If one wishes, one can remain trapped in an imaginary one… if one wishes, one can dissolve oneself into a real million…
Life—is born each day… dies each day…
This false world—how terribly truthfully… it holds us in its grip…
Sprinkle acid—on the open wound! Great fun? Stop all this pretense and love me a little!
Every inch of mind and body is in intense pain… I want to embrace someone tightly just once… but if the mind on the other side is devoid of emotion—then I would only be embracing a body… which has no meaning!
Even being selfless brings no relief from suffering… why is life like this!
Someone is enjoying my condition. Finding pleasure in watching every moment’s agony and pain throughout the day. Though he laughs alone at my suffering, still I pray—may a thousand people not laugh at his pain… Life—time, work—returns everything;
but in a slightly different way…
Three.
I turn up the TV volume, switch on all the fans, and cry out loud within the four walls—at midnight. I pour bucket after bucket of water over my head… when I feel like talking, I do so many things—yet I don’t call… a hundred attempts to reform my reckless self all fail.
I fear love… I know how wrong both giving and receiving it can be! I exist in such a way that anyone can easily say: I have no emotions for you!
In the infinite’s infinite—infinitely infinite.
Ghosts, spirits, jinns,
fairies—whatever form they take……the urge to perch on someone’s shoulders!
Though, the matter of possession……..remains uncertain!
Even high noon has its nocturne…….that opens its eyes at dawn…….alas…nocturne!
So familiar,
these well-walked paths—walking them again…….yet somehow,
they remain largely unknown!
Let even these four walls…….touched by life’s breath……grin and laugh………life!
Four.
The fullness of feeling can comprehend not only the fullness of feeling itself—
but also hold within it the emptiness of feeling……
Sometimes I think it would be better to wear the same dress for life, like certain characters;
what need is there for so much variation!?
Then again, I think there’s no point in wearing the same dress twice! If either notion gets stuck in your head, it’s a terrible problem!
Busyness: how we keep ourselves under pressure, hmm?
No chance even to peek in on dear ones…..the heart grows restless? Hmm!
Hahaha…..
Me: You can take my time, devil,
but you’ll never take my heart……muahahaha!
In silence, one finds release from many things, truly. But does one truly find release from oneself? In what silence will the self find its freedom?
Five.
Between going to eat and going for the sake of eating,
though the activity remains the same……the difference is vast.
Time—gives; but also takes as it gives……
A hurled arrow can indeed be stopped before it reaches its destination……but in doing so—
one must endure twice the wound……
No matter how wisely one speaks, what use is it to lecture anyone?
Since we don’t even know what the very next moment holds,
why do we pave the way to burden others with unnecessary words?
Six.
Bangabandhu could never be killed by 36 bullets—never!
The life that became confined to 36 bullets, he had long ago given to the country and its people. Lifelong reverence and love for him.
Seven.
Where feelings cease to play…….a
meaningless ‘sphere’ inevitably forms……what becomes of it…..will drift away in the ebb……how much will return in the tide……..but what the ebb takes away,
does the tide ever bring back! How free we are……life is so beautiful!
Let’s say,
the kitten gifted by three girlfriends will be named—from the first three letters of their names combined. Their names are respectively—Perisa, Nizhu, Sampa!
Not every rain comes gathering clouds in the sky…….then, meaningless waiting—why shouldn’t it exist….it will exist,
it will persist most stubbornly……
Getting furious with someone and pulling their hair (from their head),
tugging and pulling their cheeks, crying continuously for three hours, taking a one-hour bath afterward……then sending them a smiling selfie again! What in the world is this!?
Simply having to stay alive…….the burden of staying alive is such a burden!
Eight.
Those who lose by being overeager,
can indeed be helped to win with much effort,
but they can never be made to lose, no matter what!
I feel like saying to someone—please,
stop now…..how much longer……won’t you sleep? There’s no one to keep awake for. So what’s the use of sleeping anyway?
Forgetting anger, hurt, humiliation—suppressing pain within,
I dissolve into love……always. This is life…….
In everything bad,
I search for something good and keep my mind a little at peace…..when someone blocks me, the block does hurt, but what feels worse is—that I did something worthy of being blocked………before, I had to think before calling,
but now……..I can call anytime……what’s there to fear about a call that won’t go through anyway! I call, and comfort myself by telling my mind—their number is switched off!
Reflection: Three Hundred Thirty-Three
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One.
A dish cooked with vegetables and fish……wasn’t there any other name in the world!—chhyanra!
Softening almost the entire day’s light………rain is falling in beautiful rhythm.
And I………am getting drenched in moonlight.
Ahh……why do you call me
mad……..won’t you let me fulfill my desires, even in imagination, with a little freedom!
Two.
The colorful arrangement of reasons……for stopping……still,
I want the one
who doesn’t pause,
For no reason,
not for any reason!
Everyone does or is doing exactly the right thing from their place,
that’s what everyone thinks…….but still……everything right becomes right together…….somewhere it goes wrong……..the urge of desire always mistakes something for an inanimate object—that wretched phone! Angry, sad, swollen afternoon comes and heats up the mind! Cheeks puffing and puffing until there’s no more room—now the stomach is swelling………I want to see a morning with a beautifully serene scene of rain collected in a village pond right now. This very moment!
How beautifully the tender thin leaves of the climbing plants growing on small bushes sway and dance at the touch of droplets of rain……so beautiful!
To hold someone’s hands tight and get through the day—I long for this so much…….
Three.
If only such a gust of wind could blow—that would lift beloved ones and fling them before my eyes……! Huhhhh!
How restless this rainy afternoon makes me!
In all beauty and all ugliness, or in great sorrow or great joy—beloved ones come and crowd densely in the mind…….let a bright, gleaming, radiant sunny morning……come!
What I can see even in a drop…….that’s how I know the search for the ocean…….
No matter how much we cry out happiness-happiness—the real truth is, we love suffering…….that’s why, knowing we’ll suffer, we gladly do those very things that will bring suffering……absolutely pure suffering!
Four.
Sometimes what happens……everything in life—plays out of tune all at once…….
When the restlessness strikes like madness—only the Creator knows—why does the beloved person begin such torment then! Keeping someone in their feelings—what’s the point of inflicting such sharp agony on a person!
What must one do for someone to consider another person human! What does it take!
People fall in love with someone who never even earns the right to receive a single-word answer across their entire being!
Hmm, hmm, exactly………absolutely right……..my mind is filled with nothing but tangles and more tangles…….I myself am one big tangle……..if I could grab all the inner tangles and straighten them out, the solar system could be wrapped several times over……..hmm………..my thoughts are worthless……just as worthless as I look, so too are my thoughts worthless……..I simply cannot think anything good…….everything about me is surrounded only by worthless thoughts…….hmm, I have so much time…….so much time that I can’t even figure out what to do with it…….not just sorting lentils and rice, but properly mixing sugar and salt together, then sitting and separating them out again……..
The Other: Why are you so furious!? Shut up,
absolutely shut up!
I’ll drown you completely in desert water and finish you off……
Me: Ha ha ha……thanks for explaining the method of saving someone!
The Other: Don’t you feel even a bit of shame?
Me: Where life itself doesn’t exist even in a dot, where do I make room for shame,
tell me!
Five.
Safa’s mother from next door bought Brazil jerseys for herself and Safa…….now they’re watching the match wearing mother-daughter jerseys…….
After Neymar scores a goal,
Safa’s mother says: Sweetie,
say Neymar!
Neymar!
Meanwhile her father teaches her: Sweetie,
say Messi!
Messi!
Safa says:
Messi! Messi!
Her mother gets angry and says,
Hey girl!
Did I buy you that Brazil jersey so you could shout Messi!
Messi! when Neymar scores!?
Take off that jersey right now!
Another day.
Safa’s parents are watching the match……..
Father supports Switzerland and mother supports Brazil……
Father teaches her: Sweetie,
say, Brazil will concede a goal!
Mother teaches her: No sweetie, say,
Brazil will score a goal!
The poor thing can’t figure out what to say anymore!……she keeps saying continuously—Brazil will concede-score!
Concede-score! Concede-score!
Postscript.
Today is Brazil’s match. So I didn’t wear a bra today!…….I mean,
it’s so hot, so……..are you supporting Bra-
zil? I mean,
I’m talking about both with and without the ‘zil’!
Six.
Everyone says
I’m supposedly angry! Huh!
Compared to the reasons for anger—I only get angry 1%, the other 99% remains completely untouched!
How much a person can hate, how much callousness they can subject someone to,
how far ‘distance’ actually extends—trying to reconcile all these accounts—so many things have been lost from time to time!
I’ve erased so much…….but I couldn’t erase the pain, it remains exactly the same, and will remain……
Around a virtual identity—how many feelings…….how much…….how much
of everything……known
as much, unknown even more…….when these thoughts come to mind, it hurts terribly!
Not all feelings have names……not all relationships have names either…….then again,
why must every poem have a name?
Seven.
In any relationship—
On one side, a mountain of hatred……..trying to pierce the sky……distance—at the very edge……moving
further away where it becomes impossible……
The other side,
how many times each day seeks forgiveness from the Creator—for love,
for feelings and tears of anguish……because, for any human being, ‘doing this much’ is somehow terribly wrong!
This relationship has no name……..but does that make the feelings false? If feelings are false because they are invisible, then how can the heavy waters that soak me all day long
be false?
Eight.
To live with so much love,
one cannot truly accept any love. As a result,
those who receive infinite love—must live in a strange lovelessness.
She who remains so far away,
The heart feels restless…..
Cannot touch her,
Yet the heart keeps touching!
In life, some people come,
many of whom touch the heart. But very few come who touch not just the heart, but the soul as well. And you are one of them!
Once there were so many barriers to reaching you. But today, even being so close, my heart doesn’t want to go to you. I only want this much—wherever you are,
may you be well. You are truly the soul of my soul!
Nine.
Research reveals,
a kiss exchanges about 80
million bacteria. Oh dear,
80 million why, even if billions of bacteria were exchanged, people will kiss and keep kissing!
There will never be room for a kissless earth in this solar system. What’s the point of all these calculations?
Love means—
Even trying very hard,
Even when pain accumulates inside,
In the end, not being able to stay angry!
Ten.
Watching a blue film and then cursing the blue film’s content is pure hypocrisy. Because, this is a blue film,
it contains this and that—knowing all this, I still watch the film.
‘Belaseshe’
is already tagged as a patriarchal movie. The filmmaker has been quite successful, I understand this repeatedly from everyone’s strong feminist reactions to this movie.
We must keep in mind,
it’s not that everyone opposes patriarchy. I know many women who are fierce opponents of feminism. This is their personal philosophy. Whether that philosophy is acceptable or unacceptable can certainly be discussed,
but they do exist in society,
that’s undeniable. My experience tells me,
in Bengali society, the residents of the anti-feminist camp are still the majority. ‘Belaseshe’
shows them. So where’s the problem?
Love is a most peculiar thing. Love, when pressed into service, consumes refuse, vomit, and excrement alike, and consumes them with satisfaction. (Needless to say, the word “consumes” in the previous sentence is not meant literally.) To understand this, one must pass through such circumstances. I am certain of this from my personal experience. Where then is the inconsistency in the movie?
Yes, the sole weakness of this movie is the installation of a CCTV camera in the parents’ bedroom. The matter is inconsistent not because it might verge on voyeurism—voyeurism is nothing imaginary; it is inconsistent because in Bengali society, no one does such a thing with their parents.
Thought: Three hundred thirty-four
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One.
I have known you since 2014. You do not know me, because I am no one. Those who are no one, no one knows them. I like your writing. I like your candor and your way of speaking. I like your courtesy and your sense of humor.
I have had to fight many battles in life, am fighting them, and will continue to fight them.
My story is a very ordinary story. I am a very ordinary person. I grew up in a lower-middle-class family. The quiet, gentle girl who suffered from an inferiority complex about her position in middle-class society one day suddenly fell in love with a stranger online. For that unseen person, she cried for four years and nearly stopped her studies. 3.05 in honors, 3.39 in masters. I should have done better, but I was inattentive in class, so I got poor marks in vivas and labs.
I sat for the 37th and 38th BCS exams. Failed the preliminary both times. The first time, I couldn’t study because of my master’s. The second time, I again wanted to trust the wrong person, so I had to live with disappointment and heartbreak for some more time.
I’m still in severe depression. Should I try for a private job, or for BCS?
I’m not living on my father’s money. I’m surviving through tutoring. I know this can’t be called living, but still. For a middle-class family’s child, surviving through tutoring is the way to hold one’s head high.
After failing twice in a row, my courage has diminished. Success breeds courage, failure breeds cowardice. For someone successful in one thing, succeeding in the next is easier; for someone who has failed in one thing, failing in the next is even easier. Those who haven’t had to go through this won’t understand it.
What I have is—a great deal of childishness. I still behave like a child in many ways. I was introverted, so I used to stay alone from a very early age. Now I can’t figure out how to do what. What I’ve learned in life at great cost is that love and success cannot be had together.
I didn’t fall in love deliberately. No one falls in love deliberately either. Whatever the case, I want to be a little brave again. I think every person is unique. Within every ordinary story, extraordinariness exists somewhere! That extraordinariness lies deep within the story. I continue searching for that extraordinary element.
Two.
I study medicine. Two years ago, I entered into a relationship with a batchmate on campus. From the beginning, he was very caring. He would help me with many things. Gradually, without realizing it myself, I transformed from a symbiont into a parasite. Recently I’ve come to understand that besides me, he talks to several other girls, tries to care for them in various ways. After I grasped this, he denies it to me. For some unknown reason, he lies to me even about the most trivial matters. At one point, I began to suspect him. I have found proof that apart from me, he is in a relationship with at least one other person. But even understanding everything, I simply cannot reconcile myself to it. I cannot accept in any way that he would deceive me so profoundly. I understand everything but can do nothing! Tell me, are all men caring toward multiple women?
I don’t know how deep human emotions can be. I simply cannot extract myself from thoughts of him. Despite many attempts, I keep failing. At some point during the day, I call him shamelessly. For nothing else—just to hear his voice a little. I desperately want our relationship to survive, if only for my sake. But no, it won’t survive—I understand this. Even so, hoping for him in my life must surely be a sin. I continue committing that very sin, and even amid so much pain, I keep searching for happiness. I want to emerge from this emotion. This blind passion for him is killing me day by day. He pays no attention to anything I say. He says I’m apparently crazy. I accept even that. There’s nothing to be done. When thoughts of him enter my mind, I helplessly keep thinking about him—I don’t understand how to extract myself from this. I only understand this much: all this thinking I do for him, all this love I have for him—he doesn’t even have time to look back at it. I don’t know what I could do to free myself from thoughts of him. A two-year relationship isn’t much. Yet he has become intertwined with each of my breaths. That’s why I can’t forget him. Someone might not fall in love even in twenty years, while someone else drowns in love within two months!
Three.
When I was born, father suffered because I was a girl.
When I went to my in-laws’ house, mother-in-law suffered because I studied at university.
Still there was one shadow—my husband; even he is now far away.
Mother-in-law was quite wealthy, father-in-law lived in France, my husband was unemployed—had been for seven years.
After enduring so much, now…let it be!
Since 2012 I’ve been tutoring privately, now I’ve given it up for my son.
When I was foolish, I lived in great peace. Now peace’s mother has died. An increase in wisdom means an increase in restlessness.
I want to live. I want to sleep peacefully with my son. I have nothing left to lose today. My son is everything to me.
I was the first girl in my class. Two days before the exam, I got chicken pox. The result came: 4.96. Then before the intermediate finals, I met my husband, and after that I studied at Cumilla University. The marriage was arranged by our families. My father-in-law had a lot of money. Later, due to some complication, France revoked his citizenship and sent him back to the country. My husband works at Radisson Blu and lives in Dhaka. I live in solitude with my son. I don’t even know what I’m chasing after.
Actually, there’s another life behind the veil. That life is quite ordinary. There’s no rat race there. I have too much emotion, so I have too much sorrow. No one can solve my problems—perhaps there is no solution! It’s even possible that my sorrows are good for me. Who knows!
For the past few days, I’ve been wanting to move to Dhaka—alone. I’ll get a job, live on my own terms. I’ll leave my son behind. That’s why storms of emotion are raging in my chest for him. I know one shouldn’t go around telling others about one’s pain. I don’t do that either. But I don’t know why I’m writing all this today. I won’t complain ever again. I’m doing well enough! Now I’m thinking I won’t go to Dhaka leaving my son behind. Because at the end of the day, I want to hear ‘Ma,’ not ‘Madam.’ I won’t lose, I won’t give up.
‘The Old Man and the Sea’ is my favorite book. I am Santiago’s spiritual disciple. Even when the marlin gets away, Santiago doesn’t die. I am well, and my husband will be fine even if I don’t go to Dhaka. Everything seems fine, but I don’t like seeing myself in the mirror of helplessness.
I search for myself… a life bound in the capital of blue light from red lamps! The entire story of this life is a story of burning times.
May everyone be well. It feels good to see others doing well.
Thought: Three hundred thirty-five
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One.
You can be well while being unwell. Suppose you have a fever, your mother sits beside you with her hand on your forehead. At that moment, even though you’re sick, you’ll feel well. It happens like that. When I have a fever, I keep feeling that something strange is happening to me. Sometimes I do something crazy. For no reason at all, I suddenly ask someone, “Are you very sick?” Some people look at me strangely when they hear such a question. Then I think, oh no, the question has become absurd!
Someone comes to mind. Let me judge them a little. No matter how curtly they may behave with people, they actually love everyone deeply. Even when they ignore everything in a moment, they remember it all. They are proud, yet even more humble than that. A creative person tends to be quite emotional… but they possess an infinite capacity to remain emotionless. They write. The impression one gets of a person from reading their writing may well be the complete opposite in reality. Well then, are creative people truly emotional? It certainly seems so. One cannot create without emotion. Once someone becomes enamored with them, the thought will often cross their mind: how can one take the ultimate revenge for such neglect! Reading their stories, one gets the impression that all men in the world are bad. Women whose husbands stay away from them will inevitably develop some extra tension in their minds. They’ll wonder: why does my husband give me so little time these days! Why this sudden neglect? Do I always quarrel? He doesn’t talk to me, just watches sports. What’s there to watch so much in sports! Strange! My husband stays away, lives alone, who knows what mischief he gets up to! Reading their writing, such questions will certainly play in any woman’s mind!
Suddenly there’s a conversation with them. When we talk, it’s fun to ramble on. They would never respond to ordinary people’s words anyway, so one can ramble without hesitation! Let them be annoyed if they want—they’re not responding anyway, so what’s the harm! That day I was stunned reading one of their poems. While reading the poem, I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. How does one explain the extraordinary… are there really any words in this world worthy of praising them!… There aren’t. I only took from them, never brought any worthiness to give anything back… When I wrote all this to them, they replied: I’m a worthless fool. I lack the courage to die, so I carry all this suffering in my chest and keep writing and living, annoying everyone. Those who lack the capacity to endure suffering either die, or live as if dead.
I wrote: Shame! What kind of talk is this! You know how to annoy? They are very lucky, those who get touched by your annoyance. Listen, I can never really know you… so (in your judgment) that bit of being annoyed is everyone’s last refuge… You write much less these days anyway. I can’t accept this… I know, there isn’t enough time… still, the request remains.
They wrote: Perhaps I won’t live much longer. Whatever I can manage, I write. The desire to write has also diminished. I don’t put in much effort either!
I wrote: Where will you go? As if you’ll be allowed to go anywhere! If God wants to take you, He’ll have to give me an explanation!
They wrote: God doesn’t give explanations. If He did, Syrian children wouldn’t have to die so indiscriminately like this.
I couldn’t understand what to write. I typed: Let’s not get into mathematical calculations. Life’s wrong equations and miscalculations are there in your writing anyway. I pay my respects. At least let God be with those children right now.
Two.
They say that with time, everything falls into place.
But does everything really fall into place? Perhaps it does… or perhaps
we become such masterful actors and actresses that we excel at performing the act:
‘Everything has fallen into place!’
An advertisement idea came to mind.
The girl’s husband left for work abroad just today. She’s sitting there holding a framed photograph of her husband,
when he calls.
Mid-conversation, he says, “Sweet sixteen, my lips are becoming dry!”
The girl is blushing terribly!
Then she tells him,
“Freshen up and open your luggage—in the pocket of your blue shirt,
there’s a solution for dry lips!”
As soon as he picks up the blue shirt, he sees Vaseline
petroleum jelly in the shirt pocket!
Because we care, your lips are so wet!
How many uses Vaseline has! At special moments for special needs in special places in special ways for special… Vaseline
saves lives!
I wanted to work in media, but that wasn’t possible for me. As a child I always wanted to be a model in advertisements, but that too wasn’t possible for me. Later I suddenly thought of creating advertising ideas!
I love advertising jingles! I’m a huge fan of Sumona Haque. Her jingles still play in my head!
Three.
My boyfriend only wants my body, nothing else. I can never do that. I’ll eat neem leaves,
take medicine if necessary,
but I cannot become any man’s object to be chewed,
licked, consumed. I’ve been wanting to have sex for almost two years,
but even touching someone feels disgusting. The body desires so much, yet morality creates such barriers that I cannot do these things!
I love him mentally,
when this
love flows in tremendous tides,
then the body wants him too. I love him—a love that holds much reverence, much peace;
no expectations. He
doesn’t love me, but there are many boys who love me intensely. At least for their sake I want to remain good. No matter how much anyone talks of love-love,
it’s really sexual attraction toward someone specific. I feel it too, that’s natural. I read stories about girls not losing, but revealing what masks boys wear—
there’s much to learn there. Education means applying what you learn in practice,
so I think
such writings can save girls from making mistakes.
Another thing is,
I cannot think badly of anyone. When people say various crude things to me in my inbox, I cannot think badly of them for it. Because
I’m the one who allowed them to say such things to me, I’m complicit in all of it. I could have blocked them instead of talking to them, but I didn’t do that, I kept talking. If there’s any fault at all, why should that fault be his alone?
I love someone, truly love them and shall continue to love them. I think of them in countless ways. They are among my dearest friends, one to whom I can say everything, yet I am not their companion, for I am their student. I am always learning from them. I remain forever grateful and indebted to them. I cannot call them Sir, nor can I call them Brother—what should I call them? This is what I cannot find! This love is different, indefinable. But I truly love them, there is not an ounce of falsehood in this. The way people love the divine, whatever they may be, I find joy in loving them in that way. Loving them brings me such pleasure, because there are no expectations here, no unhealthy atmosphere. Only you and I, I and you,/ love, I love,/ your two eyes are my mirror,/ that’s why I come running again and again!/ This time I shall kiss you at the door, holding you close!/ Can one bear such waiting! Is that alright?
Sometimes it seems, I love, I love—this is wrong, at the root of everything is ‘that’, meaning, sex! Sleep won’t come at night, the mind won’t settle on studies, I feel mad, and so much more!
Reflection: Three hundred thirty-six
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One.
Have women been weak and slow since primordial times? Or have they gradually grown weak as a result of men’s long dominion over them? If the Creator indeed established equality between men and women, then why did He create such vast differences between boys and girls?
These matters are somewhat sensitive. Not everyone wants to understand their meaning in the same way. Nor can these things be understood by talking to just anyone. This menstruation that women have—does it happen by their own will? Then why can’t they worship during menstruation? Why can’t they undertake any auspicious work? Yet an embryo is born through the cessation of menstruation. Now the question is, is the Creator so one-eyed that He would view women differently? Why then would prayer to Him be forbidden? These religious restrictions are our own creation. Why was discrimination practiced against women there? Does the Creator ever discriminate to such an extent? All these webs of rules are our creation, for our own benefit! Is religion itself God’s creation?
Suppose a child is born. The child somehow gets stolen and grows up in a family of a different religion than their birth parents. They grow up following all the customs of that religion, becoming a devout person. Yet for not following the precepts of the religion they should have belonged to, for the sin of deviating from their birth religion, they go to hell after death. Now the question is, where is their fault? What they were taught from childhood, that’s what they followed. What is the explanation for this? Which is greater—birth religion? Or the religion of action?
Let me turn to another matter. My father works in government service—in the accounts department of Comilla Medical College. We are two brothers and one sister. One of my brothers has a brain tumor. Both my family and I had hoped that I would secure a government job. This past December, my father suddenly fell seriously ill. It became uncertain whether he would survive. Due to various family complications, I failed the BCS preliminary exam. My father still has his job, though he’s been assigned to a much lower-profile position. Still, what he earns is enough for us to get by. But the real problem lies with our relatives. They’re all quite wealthy, and their arrogance and condescension know no bounds. My father is ill, I should be married off, I’ve studied enough already, what’s the point of girls studying so much—a thousand such excuses. Should I now try for a job at some private company, or should I stubbornly persist with the BCS? If I join some private firm, my career will be ruined, but then again, there’s no guarantee of government employment either. If I don’t get a job, everyone will pressure me into marriage. I’m living in a state of terrible dilemma. I don’t want to marry right now—I want to go far, to see what it feels like to truly go somewhere in life! I’m thinking of taking a private job and then preparing for government service. Marriage is no solution. If anything, marriage only adds to life’s complications.
Two.
Our… no! Why am I saying ‘our’? It should be—my story. So on the 23rd of January, around 8 PM, this person first messaged me on Facebook. A few days earlier, he had sent me a friend request. We both study at the same university. He’s in fourth year, I’m in first. He’s in Engineering, I’m in Life Sciences.
What he said to me first!… I address him as ‘apni’ (the formal ‘you’). For some reason, I felt terribly shy about using the informal ‘tumi.’ I would ask him sometimes, “Doesn’t it annoy you that I use ‘apni’ with you?” He would laugh and say, “I know that even if I told you to change, you wouldn’t! Now I’ve gotten used to hearing you say ‘apni.’”
Oh, what I was saying! Our first exchange went like this…
Him: I just had one thing to say to you!
Me: Yes, tell me.
Him: Well, are you also going to tell me only launch stories like my other friends?
Me: What do you mean!
Him: No, actually what I meant was, there’s really nothing else to talk about in Barisal except launches. That’s all!
I was furious. I have a quick temper anyway, and here he was making disparaging remarks about Barisal. Whatever harsh words came to mind, I used them all to insult him.
The conversation continued like this—little by little, every day. At first I had no idea he was in fourth year. The day I first found out, what a state I was in! There’s a funny story about that too. But let’s leave all that.
Whatever the case,
our conversations kept growing. My sleep schedule shifted from midnight to five in the morning. She would say such fascinating things that I couldn’t fall asleep listening to them. After a few days of this, she suddenly stopped coming on Facebook. I began to feel terribly alone. I think for the first time in my life, I sent someone 10-15 messages. Every single one went unanswered. Exactly three days later, she messaged: “Look, I’m on an industrial tour. So I’m very busy. Keep my number. Call only if it’s really urgent.”
I can’t write anymore. It’s exactly four o’clock now. My eyes are welling up. Tears are falling drop by drop onto my phone screen. A week has passed, and I don’t even know how I’m still alive. In this week, I think I’ve eaten maybe 2-3 times at most. And that too only because my roommates insisted. I’m trapped inside the house. I don’t even attend classes. Today, when I finally gathered enough courage to go to campus, why did I have to run into her again!
I kept looking at her. But why didn’t she look back at me even once! Am I really that awful!
Why did I foolishly fall in love with the wrong person at the wrong time!
I deactivated my own account and created a fake one just to see her profile. I know no one will ever read what I’m writing. It doesn’t matter to me if they don’t. I needed to tell someone these things, so I’m telling the paper instead, even though I no longer have the strength to say it all. There’s no one to listen to these words anyway. What face would I even put on to tell them?
Nobody cares!
And so, another tearful sleepless night!
I don’t know where all my sleep has gone. I’ve been planning to sleep properly for days now. But then my parents’ faces float before me. Then I can’t do it. Dying is hard, living is even harder.
I don’t know what to do!
I can’t understand anything at all. Nothing whatsoever!