Thought: Two hundred eleven.
……………………………………..
Listen, let me tell you something—I love you. But love doesn’t mean we must keep talking, must continue, and so on and so forth. I love you exactly as you are, in all your ways. I love your goodness, and I love your flaws too. Whatever makes you happy, no matter how much I might dislike it, that’s what I love. I love keeping you in whatever way keeps you well. I don’t love you to make you like me—I love accepting you exactly as you are. Even if you suddenly leave and walk away, I’ll still love you. There’s nothing to fear.
Those WhatsApp messages from 2014 suddenly opened on my screen when I accidentally touched it. You were the only person on my chat list then, and you still are now. I look at them and laugh. I haven’t changed one bit. I remember when I’d just bought that smartphone… to annoy you whenever I felt like it, I installed every app you were using, one by one. Messenger, Viber, WhatsApp, Imo. None of these get used anymore. Because you stopped responding. Sometimes I look at those conversations… suddenly transported back to that time. Oh! Why did you have to get married? And if you had to marry, why didn’t you marry me? I know this is all my childishness. When women fall in love, they become childish.
Sometimes I think about how I accepted you from my heart—I mean, on your wedding day I unofficially but truly accepted you in my heart. When someone asks if I’m married, I deliberately say yes, I’m married. Society is such a troublesome thing! It simply cannot function without its made-up rules. How can society recognize as marriage something that has no social recognition? Well, can’t we make new rules in society?
The other day I went to meet Madam Naushin. Hearing that my little sister had also married someone of her choice, she said, “Does my student not like anyone, I wonder?” I thought to myself: I’ve remained an exception all my life. I only like, only love, someone so special who will never be mine. The one I can never have is the only one I want. This, apparently, is called love!
Sometimes I get very angry thinking that on your wedding day, we both accepted the vows together, with the same sacred words, yet only one person has all the rights! What do I have left then? Isn’t this unjust? Later I console myself thinking: what remained hidden from public view, what didn’t come forward even that day—how can it make claims now?
Fine, I accept everything. But you? You know what I’ve told you. You can at least give me that small right, can’t you? What? Tell me, can’t you? I’m not asking for much—just this tiny right to know all your little details.
I had gone out to the DC office with my hair twisted into a topknot, a scarf draped over my head. When I returned home and loosened the rubber band from my hair, a cascade of silken tresses flowed down, covering my entire back, spreading across my waist and spilling even lower. I don’t mean to boast, but my hair is so silky and soft that once you touch it, your hand simply refuses to move away. Because it’s so supple, its density is hard to gauge unless you let it fall freely. This is turning into narcissism, isn’t it? Let it be, just a little!
I look at myself in the mirror and feel pity for myself, thinking: for whom am I hiding and preserving this beauty?
There’s no one to be enchanted and lose themselves in me, to touch me even briefly!
I remember, back in university, during my third year, my bun suddenly came undone in class and my hair spread across my back. Sarowar said from behind, “Leave it open, let me see!” I quickly tied it back up. Let special beauty be preserved carefully for someone special. Sarowar said angrily, “Such pretense! I only wanted to look!”
I’ve always wanted all my adornment to be only for the one I will love. The one who will be that special someone. I still hide and preserve myself. Someday I will dress up only for you—thinking this. Alas, some people spend their entire lives just thinking, never actually doing anything!
I am indifferent to many things, this is true. I forgive quite easily too, but on certain matters my position is at absolute zero tolerance level. For instance, if someone stares at me unnecessarily with unblinking eyes. Since I don’t like conflict, I conduct myself in such a way that I don’t easily attract attention. Still, if someone behaves shamelessly, then appropriate measures must be taken!
Whether it’s my classmate or someone close to me (brother, friend, whoever).
You alone are the exception—even when you observe me from head to toe, studying me repeatedly, it has never bothered me, not from that very first day. Because I do the same with you. Head-to-toe observation!
Don’t mind this. I’m enjoying saying these things, so I keep going. There’s another ‘I’ within me, an ‘I’ into which you slip so easily. Do you know this?
Thought: Two hundred and twelve.
……………………………………..
Like a good boy, answer my questions. I’ve asked so many questions by now, you haven’t answered a single one.
Let me tell you something this early morning? I don’t know where you are, what you’re doing. But wherever you may be, your position remains fixed for me—it neither grows nor diminishes. Whether you’re alone or with someone else. You to me, or I to you—we remain bound to the same place and the same distance. To me, you exist within this chest; to you, I remain beyond your line of sight. What I meant to say by reaching out to you!
Yesterday’s headline was all over Facebook. Yes, you commented on that story too. May both be well in their own ways. What could be a more beautiful wish than this? People said such awful things. Two people are getting married—ugly talk about that; their relationship broke down for some reason—ugly talk about that too! Some worthless people can only spew nonsense, which is why they’re nobody special, can never become anything meaningful—they’re simply ‘mango-public,’ and that’s how they remain for life, until death.
Tahsan and Mithila. I saw them face to face. Always with smiles on their faces, side by side. Mithila had a certain possessiveness about Tahsan, and behind it worked the terror of losing him. Tahsan is the son of our department’s Professor Tahmida. He came to campus one day with Mithila. That’s when I saw them up close. Everyone was taking pictures with Tahsan, and Mithila was always tactfully keeping an eye on him. There was a tendency in Mithila to cling to Tahsan. People do this out of insecurity. I only caught a glimpse from afar. The rush to take pictures upon seeing a celebrity has always struck me as absurd. It’s not in my nature. Anyway, one day they had a daughter. Now I see they’ve gotten divorced. This decision is one people make only after careful calculation. When there’s no alternative left to consider, people are compelled to do this. Now the question is, they’ll both be better off on their own! Being well apart is far better than suffering together. Day after day, one truly doesn’t enjoy letting oneself live a slave’s life. Marriage puts shackles on people’s feet. Marriage is like that murder which has been proven, and the life sentence has already been passed in court. Most people marry not to make themselves happy, but to fulfill the expectations of those around them. Yet what irony—when after marriage all the world’s unhappiness comes to nest within the relationship, only those two people must bear it. Those surrounding people then watch the drama comfortably. Life may have thousands of ways to be happy, but surely marrying isn’t one of them. Whatever the technique for happiness might be, marriage certainly isn’t it! Read Epicurus or the Dalai Lama’s classic text The Art of Happiness, from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet to recent works like Richard Bach’s Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Nowhere is marriage mentioned as a path to happiness. The social cost of divorce is terribly high in this country. Otherwise, a festival of divorce would have begun in Bangladesh. At day’s end, Guru Bachchu was right—”acting happy, no one is actually happy.” All relationships are complicated to some degree. But one can’t say their child will be very well. The household is such a place where the child’s importance far exceeds one’s own. And that’s why it’s family, that’s why we build homes, make households. So such a decision, however difficult the reasons, is nothing but the dream of husband and wife being well. When I look toward their child, both of them seem selfish to me. I know your heart will rebel against these words of mine.
They are artists, celebrities. Let’s leave them out of this discussion. What I wonder is: did my parents’ long fifty-nine-year marriage proceed along a smooth path?
No. Certainly not. Given the torment my mother had to endure day after day, separation would have been the natural and necessary course. But would we have been better off then? We would not have been. Look around you. A parents’ divorce is the greatest curse in a child’s life. Just after Eid, we went to visit Rajshahi. My brother and sister-in-law’s eleven-year marriage—how many times has the note of breakdown sounded in it. That day, even after all these years, my brother seemed to genuinely want to reach a decision. Better to have everything end once and for all than to die this way every day—not my words, but my brother’s.
Then all of us together tried to make them understand.
Though I am much, much younger than my brother, from childhood he has given my words more weight and consideration than even my elder sisters’. He seeks my opinion. I told my brother: Brother, not everything in life turns out exactly as we wish. This is life itself. Think of Shuddho and Debi. Why should they suffer needlessly? Whatever aspect of sister-in-law bothers you, simply ignore it. Don’t make any decision that will devastate your children’s lives. Don’t take unnecessary stress upon yourself. Then you’ll see that moving forward won’t seem so difficult anymore. People often become far more anxious about matters than those matters actually warrant. (I know that sister-in-law never thinks of leaving my brother—there are calculations here, there are always calculations. Marriage itself means complex calculations.)
A woman who can speak against the father to the children, who can elevate her own position as a mother by diminishing the father—only innocent children can recognize her as a good mother. But children too grow up eventually. They too learn to understand. Then they can indeed grasp the truth. When a child sees one parent aggrandizing themselves by belittling the other, that child’s respect for that parent diminishes considerably as they mature. Rather than remaining silent, parents must also take responsibility for presenting to children what is good and what is bad, what is true and what is false. This teaching can never be considered the duty of just one side. Constructive arguments between husband and wife can certainly happen in front of the children. Then they can learn who is wrong and what is right. This develops their sense of justice and fairness. But let such arguments remain civil, let husband and wife not speak disparagingly of each other.
Let me give you some good advice, listen. If such thoughts ever come to your mind—that you can no longer stay together—then if you have even one child, never proceed with such a decision. (I understand that whatever your wife may say, she never thinks of leaving you.) You will stay together if only for the child’s sake. If you must make such a decision someday, let it be before the child comes (before conception)—keep this in mind.
This is life’s complex equation. One must navigate by reconciling with it.
I had to tell you all this so early in the morning. Don’t be annoyed. If my words stir up irritation,
just ignore them—that will do.
Thought: Two hundred thirteen.
……………………………………..
Last night, while suddenly rummaging through old texts, this surfaced. I had sent you the first part back then. In those days I would ignore everything. Because I believed that no matter what the world might say, I knew you exactly, and you knew what you meant to me, so even if everyone else went the other way, I would stay with you. I didn’t send you the second screenshot back then. I would ignore it. I thought, let people say what they will! They don’t know who you are to me, how long I’ve had you! So their words meant nothing to me. But reading those last words last night hurt so much! Tell me, do you think the same way now? And that’s why you avoid me? Is that why you told me, “Don’t knock”?
Why won’t you speak to me? You give no answers either. Well,
the day I’m waiting for—will it truly come?
When will it be?
Where is the wealthy one who can buy my dreams? (In Dipanwita Dutta’s voice)
Can the Yamuna say how many times Radha has wept?
(In Shipra Basu’s voice)
What the flute says when—no one understands unless they are Radha.
(In Kaushiki Chakraborty’s voice)
Sleep does not close my beloved’s eyes.
(In Shravani Sen’s voice)
The flute has only one flaw—it calls Radha, Radha.
(In Sriradha Bandyopadhyay’s voice)
Today in the evening post I received your letter.
(In Banashri Sengupta’s voice)
You will search for me that day, when I am no more. (In Haimanti Shukla’s voice)
Imagine I am not here,
spring has come……… (In Suman Kalyanpur’s voice)
Vanishing away in unknown signals……… (In Arati Mukhopadhyay’s voice)
This is not anger,
this is wounded love. (Not in Manna De’s
voice, but in Adrija Ghosh’s)
………………Still going on. I’ve heard all these songs many times,
listening to them again and again even today.
Tell me, if I am Radha,
you are my Shyam, aren’t you?
You asked me the other day what ihram is. Ihram consists of two pieces of white cloth that are considered akin to burial shrouds. Just as at the moment of death a person must leave behind all earthly desires and worldly attachments to journey toward the eternal, so too does a pilgrim, with the intention of Hajj, bid farewell to this worldly life in one sense and surrender themselves to Allah. The moment they don ihram, they sever all worldly connections. To wear ihram means that whatever you may be—beggar or nobleman—you must abandon everything and appear before Allah with empty hands. During this time, one cannot speak loudly to anyone, harbor anger or resentment toward anyone, and every step upon the earth must be gentle. So that no sound is made, so that not even a blade of grass is hurt while walking, so that not even an ant dies by mistake, and not even a mosquito is killed. In the state of ihram, cutting hair, beard, and nails is forbidden. There are also prohibitions on using any kind of fragrance. Because fragrant soap is forbidden during this time, unscented soap is used. To live an utterly simple life, all forms of pride, bad behavior, and thoughts must be kept away from the mind during this time. Other forbidden acts include killing any living being, quarreling or fighting, sexual relations, and so on. Moreover, acts that are generally forbidden remain forbidden during this time as well. Maintaining modesty of gaze is important during this period, as it is at other times. Coming away from the busyness of daily life, it becomes the pilgrims’ responsibility to remember only Allah during this time. So generous, so humble and sensitive, yet freed from worldly attachments, one presents their soul before Allah. When someone adopts such an external manner of living, it leaves a deep impression on their mind as well, and from within their heart, their mind truly becomes that of a ‘faqir.’ This becoming a faqir means removing all pride and glory, establishing humility and peacefulness in one’s heart. This is what it means to don ihram—the first formal rite of Hajj. When freed from the state of ihram, one must shave the head or cut the hair very short, and after this, cutting hair, beard, and nails is permitted. Women do not have to shave their heads. Rather, they must cut off a portion of their hair.
Last night I was looking at some pictures from the moment when brother, sister-in-law, father, and mother departed for Hajj. Looking at father’s picture, I felt something like goosebumps rise on my skin. I had always seen father as a very quick-tempered, hard-hearted person. Yet, wearing the cloth of ihram, father seemed like a completely different person. As if he were utterly calm, humble, devoid of pride—a man wrapped in the white shroud of silence, walking forward very carefully with slow steps in complete silence. For those who believe in religion, religion can truly transform them greatly. Religion has this power.
How wonderful your poem from last night was! Out of old habit, I thought you had written it about me. But no, you wrote it thinking of someone else. I know. I can guess quite well who that muse is. Whether I’m right or wrong, let that remain unknown!
One who has lived with such a dream,
has lived with great fortune—even if it be a false illusion! Yet the dream remains the same, doesn’t it, tell me?
I live on with the sweet fantasy of our union, sustained by the afterglow of your writing,
even if your thoughts have wandered toward someone else! Well then,
did you recite that poem to anyone? Let that be!
You wrote it for me—believing this, I shall drift in bliss, touching dreams, and time will align perfectly with the snap of two fingers! I will then merge even deeper into that you of yours. “Calculate it all precisely and then weep.”
Reflection: Two hundred fourteen.
……………………………………..
What are you doing? I wake up to find you’ve spread the fragrance of formality everywhere!
A sharp scent, unbearable!
Listen, darling,
is our bond really so fragile? You foolish boy!
I have seen your eyes,
I have understood the you within you, seen how vast your heart is!
Please don’t keep me spread across all that space—I might get lost! Just give me a small corner in the northern part of your heart where I can curl up. Can a writer ever belong to just one person?
He belongs to everyone. But that space within you is mine alone. Whether in reality or not,
in imagination I will remain there for life. Let everyone else live in reality if they want—I will live in this imagination and one day simply die with a smile. Any problem with that?
I only wanted our bond to be spiritual. Let there be no conversation,
no meetings, but let the pure stream of the heart keep flowing. Two people don’t meet,
don’t speak, all the conventional trappings of love end—yet let the respect each holds for the other remain intact,
let neither speak a single harsh word about the other,
let no ugly thoughts about them enter the mind. To me, this is true love. Let our relationship be like that too. Even if we suddenly meet, let us be able to give each other the utmost love! Even if you don’t give it, I will simply take it, I will claim what is mine. You have given me the right to take it, haven’t you? Is a relationship like an intoxication, tell me,
once the intoxication wears off,
all relations simply end? Without the scent of your being, I feel suffocated,
don’t you understand?
Why must I too say all those sorries and thank-yous to you? I don’t like it at all!
I don’t want any formality in our relationship. Let the world turn upside down!
Let thousands of sorrows disturb us!
You live your way. Have I come into this world to love in that typical, simpering, pain-marked way like other girls?
I have come to devour love whole. Surely you understand how selflessly I love you. I love you with all your limitations. Even your dark sides spread light in my eyes. I understand very well that all your whims, riddles, indifference,
madness, bad habits—without these you would become incomplete. I want you completely. When your heart is heavy, when you are in turmoil,
when external troubles won’t let you be yourself, surely I won’t feel good either,
right,
tell me? I understand everything, darling. I don’t want you my way,
I want you exactly as you are. You don’t need to change yourself for me,
stay just as you are, I’ll be happy to have you that way,
I’ll change myself to fit your mold instead. Listen,
I’m terribly hungry. But I won’t eat a thing unless you give me a smile! Spread a little laughter in these eyes,
in this heart. I’m ready to love you against all the world’s judgments. Perhaps
I am wrong,
everyone else is right. It’s good to regret following your own heart, even if briefly. What’s the point of adopting others’ preferences and regretting it for life?
Hey you silly boy, when did I ever say you had to call me?
Why should you have to reply to my messages?
Damn! You really don’t understand me at all! Don’t call. Don’t reply. You don’t have to. Just love me. A little bit. What,
can’t you manage that?
If love could be proved through phone calls,
then sure, it would happen. But love that needs to be proven over the phone—that’s teenage love. Such cheap love! It disgusts me just to see it! Look at those immature teenagers, they don’t even understand the ‘L’ in love, yet they spend all day making a fuss on the phone saying
‘I love you’ ‘I love you’!
What comes of that kind of love,
tell me?
Maybe we’ll never meet again,
maybe we won’t speak for a whole era, but even after that era if you call me, taking just a little time,
I’ll cry like a foolish girl just like the first day and say,
I love you! Will you return it that day?
Or won’t you even recognize me? Will you sit there having forgotten everything completely? Won’t you smile a little and say, ‘You crazy girl!’
The way you do now? The day I become a bent old woman, when I walk holding my granddaughter’s hand, even if we happen to meet by chance that day,
won’t you be able to recognize me? Won’t you say, even silently to yourself, that crazy girl!
Won’t your eyes light up with a smile from afar that day? Fine, don’t say anything even then. Don’t even smile if you don’t want to. I don’t want anything from you. Just stay well. Always. I don’t want anything else. I am already merged within you;
know this,
I’ll always remain there. Beloved, I don’t love you to receive love in return,
I love you because I cannot live without loving you! Even if you don’t love me back, just remember me with pure hatred. Because I love you, I can bear the weight of your hatred. I can say with confidence,
I understand you—the way you do. Listen, there’s a river in your eyes. Did you know?
Here, sir, I’ve managed to finish the ‘Seven Stories’ you gave me!
Along with ‘Inheritance’ too. Today I’d be happy to get a poem from you—new or old. I love you. You must stay well. When at least one person sees you staying well, that person stays very well too. All of that person’s peace lies in your wellbeing.
Are you writing? Well then,
write. Pressuring a writer, bothering them is a great sin. I don’t want to be a sinner. I love you. I’m going.
– Do you know that there really is a river inside those round eyes of yours?
– No,
I don’t know!
Is there really?
– Mmhmm,
there is. Sometimes I feel such a strong desire to swim in that river in your eyes. Why are you so cruel? Why do you always keep me deprived? Why won’t you let me go anywhere near that desire?
– You’re pointlessly obsessing over my round eyes. All the beauty of the world is captured in elongated doe eyes. Understood, ma’am?!
— You don’t understand, and you don’t want to understand either. Your eyes, just as they are, are the most beautiful eyes to me. It’s not that I like round eyes in general and therefore like your round eyes because they happen to be round. Tell me, have you ever noticed how I gaze into your eyes, searching for something?
— No!
I’ve never noticed. But today I can sense you’re searching for something.
— I see how that tiny pupil in your eyes holds me captive with such tenderness! It draws me in powerfully, you know?
I want to feel how much peace your eyes find when they look at my face!
I’ve truly seen that peace spread from your eyes across your entire face. There’s no mistake there,
no falsehood. I’ve always felt that joy. Exquisite are your eyes—exquisite is the magic of your eyes.
Reflection: Two hundred and fifteen.
……………………………………..
I’ll tell you something true,
listen. Ever since you came into my life, I feel no emotion whatsoever toward Okarbo. Believe me,
not even the slightest bit. Those photographs of hers that I used to look at so carefully, caressing them with my eyes—I don’t even want to see them anymore. I’ve deleted nearly two hundred and fifty of her pictures from my phone!
Can you imagine?
I always feel
that you fill my entire being, that I’ve found you, so I hold you close in heart and soul. I want to live my life with you alone. What’s the point of spending a lifetime with someone if it remains unfulfilled? Tell me.
I’ve found you in the depths of my heart. I won’t let you slip away.
Shall I tell you another truth? I simply cannot forget your evening smile. I’ve fallen in love all over again. Oh God!
How many more times will You make me fall in love with her before You’re satisfied?
Another truth—right now I desperately want to sit beside you and watch a movie with drowsy eyes while caressing you. With coffee and spiced puffed rice, it would be perfect! If this desire seems improper, I’m not apologetic. Another rotten truth………no, that can’t be said!
Listen, I love you so very much. Are you scolding me?
What can a rotten,
mischievous, foolish girl do when she feels like saying these words again and again? What’s her fault?
You truly understand nothing. And I’m the one who has to accept all this even after hearing such things. You are who you are. But I’m not you. I’m not as steady as you,
I can’t live by hiding my love. Why are you testing my love so intensely! I surely made even more plans than you did about us,
about our life together. I’m truly shameless. Be well. Keep hurting me like this from time to time. That way I’ll come to know the strength of my love again and again.
I will never have you. This causes me such anguish, such torment. The one who doesn’t think of me even once in an entire day—I cannot manage to be well without them! I’ve asked myself many times, Kaveri, in exchange for what could you forget this pain? I found no answer. Suddenly it seemed as if someone was crying out from within, isn’t this not pain at all, but love! Love is just like this!………Never mind, let me leave all this aside. I want to tell you so many things, I want to caution you about so many matters, I want to give you so much good advice. Yet something like an invisible barrier holds me back. Living with a love that carries no claim, no right—that is terribly difficult. I only know that I exist. Yet I don’t know where I exist, where exactly my position lies. It’s so hard to accept! Allowing problems to grow is terrifying, even more terrifying—spending so much time trying to figure out whether the problem is solvable or unsolvable. I keep reducing the time I spend understanding myself by constantly thinking of you, by loving you. When the distance between oneself and oneself keeps growing because of oneself, then neither escape nor staying becomes possible. In the shortest time, with the greatest effort, one must try to be well—at least minimally well.
It’s been a year, hasn’t it? Forget everything and let this special day pass specially. Sorrow? Unfulfillment? Pain? None of it matters!
Nothing going the way you want? Everything seems out of control? Feel like starting to break things? Want to scream “I quit! I quit! I quit!” until your voice cracks?
Ahhhhh Wait, Boss! If you must, close the doors and windows of your room, blast hard rock at full volume, and scream-sing off-key, dance like crazy! Tire yourself out, exhaust every particle of your energy, collapse on the bed and sleep like the dead with that deep sleeeeep! But don’t give up! Just a little more………hold on! God must have a master plan for you! Wait patiently for that! Something good is coming. Get prepared to grab that!
Actually, I put on Bachchu Shafin James Hasan and some others at full volume and danced like a drunk person, or almost like one, for nearly two hours!! Now everything feels completely fresh!!!!! Life fucks! I fuck life!! When life fucks you, fuck life!!!!!!!!!
So, how was this year? Was it as you had hoped, or was it different? What is marriage really like? And how did it seem to you? Did what you thought would happen actually happen? How much of marriage is freedom, and how much is bondage? Did you have to change yourself somewhat? Or are you changing? Or did you stay steady and change your surroundings instead? Don’t you have a voice recorder on your phone? Could you send me some voice recordings from your recording list? I’d like to hear your voice a little. Whatever the conversation, whoever you were talking to, whatever the subject—no problem at all. Won’t you?
Don’t think too much. Everything will work out. I’m very fond of something said by Amitabh Bachchan’s father, Harivansh Rai Bachchan—jab tak jeevan hai, tab tak sangharsh hai. Meaning, as long as there is life, there is struggle.
Listen, let me ask you something.
You’re perfectly fine without me, so why can’t I be fine without you?
Is this pointless thing what they call love?
Reflection: Two hundred sixteen.
……………………………………..
Hair blazing like wildfire—and scissors cutting through the flames!
They call it a ‘Firecut’!
Tell me, couldn’t you hold a frying pan over that burning hair and crack an egg in it to feed your girlfriend or boyfriend? Then you could spend your whole life saying—you’ve been eating off my burning head!
Hehehe…this…
I’d never heard of this haircut before…who knows what else we’ll have to see in the days to come!
Remember how we used to play ‘rice-and-milk’ as children? The one who couldn’t really be included in the game would be allowed to play as ‘rice-and-milk’—a pretend player. In the game, they’d let him play make-believe. And he’d be happy just making fake moves in the game. In cricket, if they let him bat and he got out, he’d still get to bat again, because he was ‘rice-and-milk.’ If it was a game of ludo, the rice-and-milk player would get upset when he rolled a ‘one’ and burst with joy when he rolled a ‘six.’ But alas! He was rice-and-milk—his 1 meant nothing, his 6 meant nothing!
Even in adulthood, many can’t forget that rice-and-milk game. Life too, in its mysterious play, keeps many as rice-and-milk players. It lets them make pretend moves now and then, and they’re happy with that! Many of them don’t even know—they remain rice-and-milk! Day after day, they live believing the lie to be truth. They’re content just to stay in life’s game. And life, to keep them happy, stages this drama of false play with them.
Not everyone who doesn’t know remains rice-and-milk unknowingly—that’s not true. Some voluntarily become rice-and-milk and keep playing. Perhaps they’re expendable in life’s game, but they’re alive at least! That’s all they get. Why must everyone win at life’s game? Well then, when someone keeps making moves as rice-and-milk even after knowing the truth—who’s really the rice-and-milk player then? Themselves? Or the one who keeps them playing without understanding?
Please take very good care of yourself…
I remember I was in second year then, or perhaps third. There was a program at TSC. In the green room, my friend Chaiti had said, “Nru (she called me Nru affectionately), you have no fat on your belly at all. How will your husband cherish you?” Needless to say, Chaiti was then in the twelfth year of her thirteen-year romance—meaning she had already finalized plans to marry Captain Rabi bhai the following year. So her saying such things was justified. And that’s what girlfriends do. (Girlfriends indulge in such teasing—I learned this bit by bit after coming to university.) I had said, “Better he doesn’t”—though in my school-college days, I would have considered such jokes utterly vulgar. In my honors life at university, I was much more gaunt. So much so that you could count my bones. I was always inattentive and indifferent toward food and my physical appearance. It was during this same time that after a program, a master’s student named Komal bhai, who sang beautifully, made a comment while sitting at the dinner table, looking me up and down in such a way that I became deeply uncomfortable. Along with feeling somewhat hurt and humiliated. In the program’s fashion show, I had dressed as a baul singer’s companion. An ektara in hand and a garland around my neck, hair tied high in a bun, wearing a saffron sari. Ashru had dressed as the baul. Anyway, I was speaking of Komal bhai’s words—needless to say, he was excessively fat and had a considerable bald patch on his head. Since he was involved in student politics, he was on my list of people to avoid. Though I always praised his singing. I still do. He too would call me over for conversations—he had read my writing in magazines, said I wrote well, that if I tried I could go far, offering such praise. Since he did student politics, I couldn’t avoid him out of fear either. That night, looking me up and down, he had said, “You’re drying up completely. There’s nothing on your body. Eat more.” Suddenly that day, it was as if I came to my senses. I felt so humiliated. After that, apart from Facebook, we hardly met or spoke on campus. I felt terrible that someone could speak this way. Though gradually I did become more careful about my health. That Komal bhai remained on my Facebook friends list for some time. He would like my photos. He married a young girl some time later. (He had essentially forced the marriage by having some political leader call the girl’s father to intimidate him.) And some time after that, during the Ganajagaran Mancha movement days, seeing some of his posts, I unfriended him. Though I still praise his voice today. I will in the future too. Sometimes I think he had pointed out a stark truth to me quite plainly. No matter how much dignity I carry myself with, at the end of the day, everyone sees that outer body. So it too needs some care! Like removing a thorn with a thorn, in trying to forget pain through pain, I seem to have been defeated. You wrote to me, “You’re needlessly increasing your own turmoil!”—it’s in response to that context that I’ve written all this in anger, from pain. I know very well how little you think of me. But I want you to speak openly about everything, share without hesitation with me. I have placed you in that position where once someone is placed, they can no longer be thought of as anything separate from one’s own existence! When you fall silent, my very life falls silent!
Thought: Two hundred and seventeen.
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Lice are apparently a beloved delicacy among Tibetans! Couldn’t we arrange to send all the lice-rich public from our country to Tibet?
Standing in the crush of the bus, wondering if there’s any clever way to hoist my feet onto my shoulders, just then a seat emptied right beside me and I went and sat down. A bald uncle came and sat in the seat next to mine. A little while later, suddenly it felt like there was a small earthquake! The seat began to shake! Later I realized, no, this wasn’t an earthquake—sitting right there in his seat, whatever came over uncle, he started shaking both his legs incessantly! He was moving his feet in such a way that even my feet were trembling! There wasn’t even room for me to move my legs away………suddenly, oh my! After a while I saw that he was moving too!
Eyes fixed outside—
Uuuuuuncle………auntie what the hell…….!!??
Hahahaha……….who knows where uncle’s destination was!? As soon as the bus stopped at Shantinagar intersection, he got off in great haste!
Poor uncle! Did he manage to make it home? Or did he right there in the road………!!
Listen Shamik, won’t you say a single word to me? Are you busy?
Some of your words really sting me from time to time. Look, having traveled this far down life’s path, I’ve never behaved in such a scattered, incoherent way. Am I being too frivolous with you lately? Do you think badly of me? I’m saying this because people surely won’t look kindly on such behavior. On top of that, you’re married. Though I’ve secretly married you like that Japanese wife! No one knows about that.
Have I grown old and fallen into a frenzy? Do you ever think that I torment you because I can’t quench my youthful passion? I sometimes feel inferior, because you’ve never really reached out to me on your own, at least not since your marriage.
Thinking about all this hurts so much!
You never tell me details about how you are. I mean, you don’t consider me truly close to you. When did you last go home? May I know? Do I seem to you lately like someone without self-respect and terribly clingy? Or do I seem like a terribly awful girl who’s eager to meddle in your domestic life! Someone utterly unrestrained and intrusive! That’s how you think of me, isn’t it?
Believe me, I truly never want to be like that. You and yours should always be well in your own way! I just feel terribly helpless without you, which is why I want to know about every moment of your life. If I were truly so unrestrained, could I have stayed this way for so long, tell me?
Yesterday evening when I was returning home, seeing that moon reminded me of you, whom I only see from afar……never able to touch.
Oh! The soles of my hands and feet are burning with heat. I want to merge with your warmth and burn even more. Come, let’s burn together and become ashes in autumn flames.
In this one year alone, without my asking, you’ve adorned my life with so many grand gifts; I’m not even speaking of my career—I won’t mention that.
The greatest gift to me was those words you spoke—”I trust you more than my wife, even more than myself.” How profoundly you elevated me with that single sentence! Yet like Christ’s disciple, I was the one who caused you the greatest harm, wasn’t I? Though you said, “Nothing has happened. What was meant to be, has been.” But still, somehow I became entangled unknowingly in that becoming! And perhaps that’s why I too am being punished.
Sometimes I lose myself in darkness, find refuge in darkness itself where I stay awake, where I find peace.
……One day I will truly be lost forever……there will be no urgency to return. I know, no one will search for someone like me—not even then. No one at all.
Today’s sky seems like a narrative wrapped in melancholy. Yet the very sky has the power to transform the day, to fill it with glittering sunlight. How does one sky change everything so completely? Today the air stands still, weighed down by so much pain, carrying all of the sky’s tears in its chest.
I’m missing your writing terribly! Tomorrow morning I rise for that journey again. Won’t you give me something new to read? What are you doing? Look, if you’re still annoyed with me, don’t bother responding. That’s fine too. Hearing your scolding from so far away hurts me deeply.
If your annoyance has lessened somewhat, then do reply.