The Plaster of Thought-Walls: 146

Thought: One Thousand Sixteen
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One. I am no poet, yet I can swear that after completing a successful poem, when the poet gives that final punctuation mark with a thrust of the pen and runs their hand over the poem's body with satisfaction—you are that very satisfaction of mine!
Two. Why do I feel so insufficient?
You know, dear... Love is a funny thing...
You can be all impressive... Have a good grade... Have all the high-value skills, a good career even...
Talents... Singing... Writing... Dancing...
But you are still not good enough for being loved...
Three.
: You make my soul ache with longing.
: You feel so utterly human to me.
Four. Tell me, will this remind you—if I say that I remember all those countless messages I sent you, and I feel tenderness for my own lover-self, for the way I expressed my untroubled love?
It hurts terribly, but I...
Let me stop!
You know, being alone hurts so much...but you are imaginary...
What have I done...all this time?
Five. I am so tired to undo my life like this...Undo what I love...Undo whom I love...Undo my passion...
I feel like an emotional prostitute every day...
Six. Listen, the opposite of love is not hatred, so I became indifferent toward you. Hatred is actually purer than love, more pristine.
Emotion or love has so much sexuality mixed in, so indifference is what you deserve; though I know you won't like this either. This is my revenge.
Seven. When you fall in love with a player...tell them and show them how much you love, act out your crazy love, then...get married to some rich guy, have some kids, enjoy your life to the fullest...keep him guessing...confuse that motherfucker...
Now you've got every right to show him your wealth he can hardly dream of having.
Eight. I would have cooked with real care too, if you were there to eat. You are some strange magic wand that makes me capable of everything.
Nine. If I had found you in this life, would I have become good then?
Ten. If you ever feel deeply stressed, hurt, in ways that just won't diminish, then go sleep beside your uncle and aunt or touch them. Hold their hands, cut their nails, massage their hands and feet. You'll see that no pain in the world can touch you. The touch of parents is like that.
You should touch your parents while they're alive. When they're gone, you won't be able to touch them even if you want to!
Eleven. Who committed suicide on live stream, who threw a baby from the upper floor, who divorced whom—please don't share such videos or photos on Facebook. Nothing good comes of this, only harm. And we have a new addition in our 'Russell Bhai.' Looking at everyone's experienced statuses, it seems Russell Bhai won't rest until he makes everyone his cousin brother.
Brother, you feel afraid yourself, which is perfectly fine. Don't share fake news to frighten others. Not everyone can take everything easily. We come to Facebook for joy, to relax a little, not to be scared or to frighten others. Yet many of you come to do exactly that.
My dear brothers and sisters, if you wish, don't be afraid yourself, but don't drown your surroundings in negativity! Swallow negativity with your breakfast, and instead of sweets for dessert, by all means keep a dish called Terror on your table. Have a picnic in broad daylight and feast on Russell Bhai—no problem at all! But eat all this stuff alone by yourself.
Do not serve up negativity, fear, and despair by inviting others on Facebook or into your home; there's already no shortage of people around who replay bad news like tape recorders. You alone pursue your PhD in negativity—we too will secretly feel proud.
This is written entirely in Bengali; I hope I won't have to explain it again by writing Hebrew poetry or Urdu couplets.
Twelve. You know, when exhaustion breaks down my body, I want to rest my head on your lap and sleep for six straight hours.
When great joy comes into my life, I want to hold you close and care for you with tender affection.
And when I writhe in agony, your face keeps appearing in my imagination.
Just imagining you heals me.
When I lose, I seek only your shoulder, though I don't find it... still I search...
And when I win, I save all the medals in your name.
That day I went to your office with a packet of sweets. I didn't know exactly how high your chair was. That day I saw that even the senior officers at your office call you "Sir." Seeing this, I quietly came back home.
I never got to see you again. Never got to see your chair either. Well, it's for the best. When I first loved you, first kissed you, you were just a small clerk then. After all these years, you'd sit in a big chair—this is what should have happened. I loved that young boy, so I felt uncomfortable going before the man who had become a big official. I thought, what if you get annoyed!
I won't go before you anymore. I'll go far away.
But you know, my heart is full of only you, and in my heartbreak's waves there's only you.
You, you, and you. This "you" is mine alone, my cherished, my tenderly cared for, my beloved.
Why didn't I go to you that day? After all this time, what if you said you now have a wife or a lady! Why should I accept that? Where were they when I came into your life?
I won't accept any of that. I won't share you with anyone. If necessary, I'll divide myself and float away in water, but I won't share you. You belong to me...
Yes, you, you, you belong only to me.
Thought: One Thousand Seventeen
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One. Even a call girl, if she falls in love with someone once, cannot bear to see another woman beside that man.
Two. What we mean by a person who is entirely one's own—people never share that person with anyone. Yet that time which is entirely one's own, many people give it away to just anyone. If they don't suffer, then who will? Having some leisure for oneself is very necessary. That time must not be given even to the closest person. Except for God and yourself, no one else can heal your mind.
Three. Some of you have noticed that I generally don't meet people who come to my office for purposes other than official business. Let me tell you the main reason. We have to stay very busy with office work. (This isn't worth mentioning—everyone has to stay this busy.) So reading, writing, or any other pleasurable work must be done after handling all kinds of office pressure, or alongside it. I find joy in creativity. Creation requires a lot of time. Reading and writing demand immense patience and labor. For this, I often can't even sleep properly. And I've accepted this. Now you tell me—why should I be interested in spending time on your personal matters like frustration, career, love, studies, indecision, family problems, etc.?
There's danger even in giving time once.
Whoever I give my time to praises me so much to their friends that within a day or two, I can see their friends on the CC camera, sitting in the visitor's chair in my office. A few days ago, I spent nearly two hours after office hours with a truly wonderful boy from Kushtia Medical College. (This is a tremendous amount of time for me!) Naturally, anyone who talks with me will forget all kinds of frustrations and want to live anew. I can transform someone who is mentally half-dead into a person of boundless strength. I truly possess this extraordinary ability. That younger brother was so inspired by my words that now he wants to have long conversations with me every week. I understand his emotions, his love, his sincerity. But due to my extreme busyness, I cannot give my leisure time to anyone. These days, I avoid answering most phone calls. (You will never see me chatting at a tea stall. I too feel like chatting, you know.)
So many people love me (for their own needs) that if I were to give the little time I have outside office work to people, there would be nothing left of my personal life. For this reason alone, when I meet someone on the street, most of the time I don't behave well or in a friendly manner; I want everyone to spread the word that while I may be good in the virtual world, in reality I'm a bad person, and no one should dare come close to me. The work for which I sacrifice something as great as sleep—should I give that work time to you? But why? I don't do politics, I don't need to sell books, my household doesn't run on your money. If you were in my place, could you have given so much time? You tell me.
Four. Let me share a secret.
Whatever you all may say, I am always in favor of religion.
Religion is like magic. When the page reach drops for some reason, posting something about religion does the trick. That's why I love religion.
People consume religion well,
I receive religion well.
Though Mark Zuckerberg is ethnically Jewish, he is a dear friend to people of all religions.
Five. Religion is like oxygen—it doesn't burn itself, but helps others burn.
(Though religion itself may not be a circus, it turns most people into circus clowns.)
Six. Rather than religion being superior, it's essential for the followers of religion to be superior. Looking at history makes this clear. People show respect by seeing deeds and their results or achievements, not by seeing religion. So when someone forces these matters, their arguments and they themselves become suspect.
Seven. Learn to ignore and become even more occupied with your own work. In this lies all peace.
Eight. Are you listening?
You know how I feel around you?
Safe; as safe as it feels to embrace a father.
The confidence with which I stand behind my brother—I find that same confidence in your voice. The peace I find near my mother—I find such peace in your scent. The way I see myself in the mirror—I see you with that same profound intensity.
But I never want you to desire me as before, to miss me.
When someone is beside you, feeling the absence of another in your heart is a great torment—I have seen this.
Nine. For some people, good words don't work—they need to get caught, then it works.
And for some people, even getting caught doesn't work—they need to get caught again and again, and still it doesn't work.
Between these two, which one are you?
Ten. The most despicable wrong thing in the world is: loving and prioritizing others more than yourself!
Eleven.
When men live off their girlfriends' or wives' money, they somehow seem like absolute fools.
When women support men with their own or their fathers' money, they somehow seem terribly naive.
And in such cases, more often than not, in the end, it's the women who get brutally betrayed.
(Personal opinion)
(If you want to rescue my fourteen generations, don't rush. There's a risk of falling and getting hurt. Rescue slowly, there's no hurry. Rescue yourself, and give others the chance to be rescued too.)
Twelve. Just because I trust you blindly doesn't mean you should prove me 'blind.'
Thirteen. Long ago I watched a play with Tahsan. As far as I remember, Tahsan was meeting prospective brides.
After meeting several prospects, he encountered a very interesting girl. As a bride, she was exceptionally talented. Very smart in her manner and speech, spoke with a melodious voice. Beautiful to look at, well-educated from good institutions. Could sing. All in all, very impressive.
Tahsan's parents asked him, "Well, do you like the prospect?" Tahsan replied, "In a word—impressive!"
The parents, delighted, said, "Then shall we arrange the wedding?" Tahsan's answer: "No." He added, "Mother, the girl has every virtue, but she didn't touch my heart the way the one I loved once did."
I've forgotten the name of that play. Can anyone help?
Fourteen. When marriage comes calling,
Run... run away!
Fifteen. To stay alive means
to sell—yourself.
One who cannot sell, cannot survive.
Sixteen. Will you truly not speak to me? I don't even have the strength to fight anymore. What's the point of fighting? You won't talk anyway! It's my loss to fight! Better to sleep instead... I must become very wealthy. These days my main problem is poverty. I lack nothing in love and affection, I only lack money. I must become a millionaire so you can never say that you ignore me because I'm poor. That you don't love me doesn't matter; but I won't give you the chance to despise or pity me for my poverty.
Seventeen. Even with eyes closed, half-sleep.
Eighteen. Without you, no one else feels like my own. Everyone feels like strangers, repulsive. Even I feel strange to myself, like someone else. I beg you, never become like me.
Nineteen. Believe me, I'm not ugly; I'm poor. If I had money to go to a parlor, I'd make myself beautiful to seduce you.
Twenty. Let's not speak about my ugly jealousy. Let's not ruin this moment. I'm sorry.
Thought: One Thousand Eighteen
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One. Even being so close, you have no qualms about making me bleed! It doesn't pierce you anywhere! Only I cannot! You can kill me daily because I live for you! Victory is yours alone!
Two. You're the only sin I find heavenly.
Three. Shimul,
My heart is heavy, so I sat down to write to you. Tell me, why is this Eid holiday so long this time? It just won't end. This never happened before.
Have I grown old then? Why do I fear Eid, Puja, Boishakh—can you tell me? I was never an antisocial person. The night before Eid, I could never sleep from excitement.
I don't understand myself these days. I've learned that what we call life is precisely our inability to make things happen the way we want to spend our time. That's why I don't get agitated anymore. Calm, like a still river in a sky-blue sari, I watch the untimely rain through the window.
The restless me of before would have abandoned writing and run out to get drenched in the rain. And now!
The sari will get ruined, my hair will be a mess, I'll catch fever at night, what if I slip and fall...! All these thoughts flood my mind in a single second. Is this what they call growing up?
Oh well, never mind. Tell me about yourself. How are you spending Eid? Have you found your friends? You must have, otherwise you wouldn't have forgotten to write me back. Go on, forget me. But stay well. You'll have to forget anyway, today or tomorrow. So it's better to get things sorted out beforehand.
Lately, I just feel like crying all the time. I'm feeling it again now. I thought I'd write you a long letter, but that's not happening—my tears are soaking the paper.
This is my seventeenth letter. I know no reply will come. How I love writing to you! Now somehow I'm feeling all Eid-like.
Goodbye, Shimul. Even knowing I won't get an answer, I remain waiting. I quite like waiting now.
Stay well. Eid Mubarak.
Yours,
Dipa
Four. The boy had just paid a fine of 2,500 taka for riding his bike without a helmet. Young age, what could he be...22 or 23. After years of courtship, he'd married just 1 month and 26 days ago. They loved each other madly. The girl was 17, still a child really, very emotional. She kept calling to ask her beloved—dearer than her own life—how much longer before he'd return.
As soon as he was out of the police's sight, the boy removed his helmet, hung it beside his bike, picked up speed, and raced toward home. Poor thing, how his wife was missing him! And in this heat! How long could one keep wearing a helmet!
Not even ten minutes later, a passenger bus (Lalon Transport) came from behind, struck the bike, and flung it quite far. Everything ended in an instant.
Spot dead! The poor fellow had taken the main impact on his head. According to the doctor, if Hassan had been wearing his helmet, he might have suffered bone injuries, but he would have survived.
The highway police did manage to detain the bus, though it didn't bring Hassan back to his mother, father, and wife.
Five. After touching your body, I can no longer touch anyone else's heart.
Six. Never go where there's little chance of receiving respect. Instead, stay home, go alone to the park or riverbank. Do whatever feels good and spend the day that way. Surprise them by saying: "You're busy that day, I won't have time to come." Even if it's a lie, sometimes you have to lie to avoid heartbreak. Never make excuses for compromising your self-respect—you'll only suffer in the end.
Six. My father is a heroic freedom fighter, but he has no freedom fighter certificate. If I wanted, I could legally obtain a certificate and take advantage of quota benefits. When I tried to explain this opportunity to my father, he became very annoyed.
Read this piece—you'll discover the dignity of a true freedom fighter.
Seven. Never go out of your way to give advice to someone whose time hasn't yet come to need your counsel. Sometimes you have to steel your heart and keep your wisdom tucked in your own pocket.
Eight. I watched 'Lapataa Ladies.' Wonderful story, dialogue, acting, music, direction. I'll write a review when I have time. After watching it, I felt deeply regretful thinking: why can't we make such a simple, innocent film? Yet our childhood was spent watching Iranian films dubbed in Bengali on BTV—films full of such simple innocence. So many years have passed. When will we ever learn?
These thoughts make the heart heavy.
Nine. Waiting for a message
and
leaving a message on seen
...between these two lies what we call sweet relationships or skillful acting.
Ten. You drove madness into my head and now you call me mad!
Eleven. Never answer two kinds of calls, and life's unnecessary troubles will diminish somewhat:
The call you don't need to answer
The call that might leave you feeling down
The more calls you answer, the more you'll suffer.
Time is precious. If you have nothing else to do, rest if necessary, but don't give your time to just anyone.
The more time someone gives away, the worse their time passes.
Twelve. Don't spit just anywhere, spit in the right place.
Right time, right decision, right result.
Thirteen. Tell me why you couldn't pass. But who asked you to find out who else couldn't pass?
Fourteen. Just thinking about the day my loved ones will die makes my head feel strangely empty. It's not that my mind's sky lacks the harsh cawing voice or the rudeness of wild bushes. There's the rebellious lava of Vesuvius too, and processions of slender words like spider lilies. Yet still, whenever the thought of that person leaving comes to mind, somehow all feelings fade away with the sepia-colored evening light. Well, I have only my own people as refuge—could I not even become a proletarian!
The next moment I remember hearing that humans live alone, must live alone. Living itself is supposed to be fulfillment. To be fulfilled, I try to imprison thoughts of death and loved ones in an ancient chest and move forward. I see that the will to live, happiness, even what little breath I could call my own—all remain imprisoned with loved ones or death. I cannot understand... what complements breath, happiness, or the will to live? Death, or one's own people?
Thought: One Thousand Nineteen
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One. All the completeness and incompleteness of the world... both are called love.
Two. Whatever the problem, from whatever direction it comes, whoever's fault it is—isn't it much better to become trouble-free through breakups or divorce rather than constantly fighting and making people laugh? What do you think?
Nothing in this world is indispensable, no one is indispensable.
Three. Skill begins with experience,
and
peace begins with solitude.
Bengalis...
never miss a chance to say something good,
never lose a chance to say something bad.
Those who never take the opportunity to speak well of you,
let them never get the opportunity to speak ill of you either.
Four. God lifts up, but who brings down!
Five. Fools and foolish people—the more you tolerate them, the more you'll regret it. They never serve any purpose in life, only increase troubles; so discard them before it's too late.
Six. What's the similarity between gyms and brothels?
In both places, people sweat and end up paying money.
Seven. Do you know when a man's helplessness is most revealed? When he lies to extract sympathy from others. A true man never expects sympathy from anyone.
Eight. When someone whose duty it is to show you respect ever disrespects you, in most cases, that's your achievement.
Nine. Why do you call for your mother when you enter the game? Didn't you think before entering the game?
Thought: One Thousand Twenty
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One. Today I feel such tenderness toward you. I'll lose weight this time. Don't I need to impress you? You'll pull me close one day. When that happens, I want to be able to give you my best. This will be my motivation. Understand?
Two.
On the day you departed, travelling far away, my vision became sharper from that very day. Now I can see you clearly. Even sitting beside you, I never saw you with such clarity.
Three. In a moment of carelessness, my beloved mirror shattered into pieces. Looking at those broken fragments, I see you and I scattered across them.
Four. You have come to my dreams so many times until today, yet why didn't you ever bring a bouquet of white roses filled with sweet fragrance! Am I forbidden from love even in dreams?
Five. I feel like holding you and pinching your cheeks.

How much I love you! Who will make you understand!

The days of waiting wouldn't be so beautiful if they weren't for you. You are beautiful, so the waiting too becomes beautiful each day.

Have you seen the movie Veer-Zaara? I think I'm becoming that Zaara, and you've been Shah Rukh Khan all along!
Six. I love you, babe. I need to say it. Please let me…
Seven. As long as you live, keep fighting. This fight is for honour, it will free you from humiliation.

Don't keep looking at anyone's face. No one will spare you. However many come forward, they will all speak in tones of suspicion.
Eight. You know why I tell you everything? Because I simply want you to accept me.

Sometimes I can't accept myself either; but I want you to accept me—with all my problems, all my flaws, failures…
Nine. Whatever happens, if you spoke properly there wouldn't be so much suffering. Why can't you speak! Why don't you even say the necessary things? I suffer so much alone in those thousands of conversations where you don't speak!
Ten. I wanted to feel desired by you. I always did…for a moment, I felt you too want to stay with me! Still!
I got deeply happy in my heart after that.
You withdraw quickly after I express my feelings. I don't know what to do.
I don't want to lose this friendship at any cost. Friendship is precious. It's not an issue if you can't sleep with me. We are done a long time ago in that area.
I suffer from your absence these days and I just shared with you my desires, you casually replied, that's it. I hoped for sex immediately after you replied. I'm sorry.
I don't know how to handle communication with you.
Eleven. Many years ago, a girl made a very amusing comment about me:
Someone whose favourite vegetables are green chillies and bitter gourd—you can tell what kind of person that is!
(I don't know if you'll see this post. If you do, know that I still love green chillies and bitter gourd immensely; but today I am very sweet, believe me!)
Postscript. Let me share an amusing fact. I love green chillies so much that once, while going to Delhi for official training, I carried half a kilogram of green chillies in my bag—fearing I might not find them there!
Twelve. A person can never be creative and happy at the same time. Happiness is the end of creativity.
Thirteen. Essentially, only two types of people are beautiful:
Those who remain silent

Those who sing
The rest, at day's end, are ugly.
Fourteen. Even showing a thirsty Bengali the source of water is dangerous. Upon seeing it, they'll promptly say, now bring me a glass of water from there. If you don't bring the water then, they'll misunderstand you; bad behaviour, they might even harm you.
Those who knew where the water was but never showed the way — they won't fall into such troubles.
The mute have fewer enemies; the benefactor has fewer allies.
Fifteen. If women could study as much as they can love, not a single girl would remain unemployed in Bangladesh.
Yet they love such goats who can't even recite the two-times table. She herself is a donkey, and falls in love with a goat. They've already decided on the child's name: (if a girl) Goat-donkey, or (if a boy) Dongoat.
Sixteen. Saints stay awake at night, as do yogis and sinners...

Ordinary people sleep.
Open sky, dark night, stars filling the heavens.

Looking at the stars, it felt as if this universe was my home. All the other planets too were familiar. I would spend hours just gazing at the stars.
What joy there is in walking the right path even in pitch darkness, seeing nothing with your eyes!

No one ever says, "Come, let's watch the moonlight together!"

Why don't they say it? Is woman then more beautiful than moonlight?

When a woman is beside you, does the moonlight grow dim, or does it brighten?
Come, let us become small again. You, a seventeen-year-old lover; I, a fifteen-year-old girl.

Then on some moonlit night you'll come secretly to the pond's edge. You and I in darkness. Love like a red lotus blooming in the lake of darkness.

But wait — do lotuses come in red? Himu holds several blue lotuses. What blue is this blue then?
A sky the blue of your eyes trembles in the pond water.

In moonlight our shadows will flutter in the water, in the breeze. It will seem as though you and I are somehow becoming one...
Seventeen-year-old shy you, and fifteen-year-old me in moonlight, side by side, close together.

Neither can you touch me, nor I you. Like this, without touching, the whole night will pass, in untouched bliss.
Seventeen. What cannot be done through someone,

That person's heart cannot bear it.
Fear such a person,

If you don't want your peace and happiness to decay.
Eighteen. Your friend

Stays silent during right deeds,

Scolds loudly during wrong ones—

Is this too a form of friendship!
Nineteen. Beware of anyone who worries about whether you'll go to heaven or not!
Twenty. Alas, so much slipped away in life, I couldn't catch it despite trying hard! Yet what I did catch hasn't treated me too badly either. Now I understand — you can't have everything at once, can't do everything together. Some things will surely be missed! You have to find satisfaction in what you have. Even with the greatest effort, a person doesn't get more than this in one lifetime.
Twenty-one. In childhood, your parents would buy you a car and come shouting... Surprise! Make yourself such that in adulthood you too can suddenly buy them a car one day and shout... Surprise! (Don't make excuses — they could have made excuses too if they'd wanted.)
Twenty-two. It's possible that after you die, the person who cries most for you will be the one you treated worst.
Thoughts: One Thousand and Twenty-one

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One. Truly fortunate is he who can keep himself detached from society! He never sees himself as small because of others' words. He can go far, lives well.
Two. All my life I've tried only to earn a little respect. Now I see that no one loves me. This pains me. I don't know why, but now I just want to receive a little love.

What will I do with loveless respect?

You too perhaps respect me, but don't love me, isn't that so? No one's love comes to a sharp-tongued girl like me. Rebellious girls die alone.
Three. I make videos which nobody watches! But Sadhguru inspired me to invest my life where my heart is. It doesn't matter if it doesn't pay. Students don't consider me as a teacher, I'm more like a model, they comment.
What can I do about it? I have a body like a model, I try to look presentable.
Sadhguru said, "If you don't live where your heart is, you will have everything but you will have nothing in the end."
So, I make videos about what I know. I like imparting knowledge. I don't want any recognition, I just want to make myself happy.
Four. I trust you! I'd wait for you to trust me back.
Five. I used to want marriage before, now I only want to be happy.
Six. I just want to be accepted by you. I can die trying to be accepted by you. Only you matter to me now!
It's just that you are my God and my lover too, so sex is involved here! You are a mix of everything—you are sublime and corporeal…both! It's important that I feel the closest to you.
I overshare, I am naked to you. I want to stay naked in your eyes because the person who is the closest to my soul deserves my naked body.
You are amazing. You know that? I'm forever mesmerized by you.
Seven. I trouble you so much, don't I? What should I do, tell me? My life is such that I face challenges in every single matter. Perhaps I don't lack food or clothing, but my life is extremely complex in every mental aspect. I live under psychological pressure about everything. That's why you become necessary in my daily existence.
You are not some luxury of mine—you are a person of absolute necessity, my savior!
I don't exaggerate these things. I feel all of this. What I cannot speak about with anyone else, I can speak about in your court. This inbox is my stage, and my courtroom.
It saddens me to have to endure life's harsh realities. I don't want you to misunderstand me either. That's why I tell you even these subtle, delicate matters.
I cannot tell everyone what's in my heart, yet I cannot help but tell you. Before whom I have laid bare this heart, I cannot keep my mouth shut.
It's no wonder that I fell for you as you are my therapist. You saved me while Covid! My whole adult life is therapy from you.
Meeting you was my destiny! I can't live without you.
I could never fit my relationship with you into any worldly convention; I have only learned to surrender and be still.
Eight. Male freedom or female freedom... everything is possible if there is financial independence. If your pockets are empty or filled with someone else's money, shouting about freedom won't accomplish anything. Once you can stand on your own feet, you don't need to shout anymore—people naturally show respect. Money is the root of money.
Nine. I demand the right to react with 'haha' to my boss's posts.
Ten. I am that same girl you all know—the one who, after her doll's wedding in childhood, would hold its tiny clothes to her chest and cry. The one who saved tiffin money to buy Gopal Bhand or Feluda stories. I was just as sentimental as all of you, you know? I too would hide away my Eid dress. Jhalmuri was my favorite snack too. I too wanted to go to school with my hair loose instead of braided, with kohl-rimmed eyes.
Like many of you, I had my first love in school too. Just as many of you would get poor results and be late to class when you fell in love, the same happened to me. I was exactly like you—a perfectly ordinary girl.
Then so many years passed.
I've given away all my dolls and Gopal Bhar books to who knows whom. I don't buy special clothes for Eid anymore; I find no taste in jhalmuri or puchka. Hair loose, kohl-rimmed eyes, falling in love—these all seem like dreams these days. But my results are good now. I've learned the calculus of profit and loss. Where there's no profit, I no longer linger. My life has become competition.
I must only run, or else I'll stumble and disappear. I was born to run! I cannot stop, cannot tire.
Eleven. Being a woman is the whole problem!
Only those who have problems stay away from this problem.
Twelve. When you begin with distant tasks,
they become tasks at hand.
When you leave tasks at hand undone,
they remain distant tasks.
Thirteen. Beware of people who attach their profession before or after their names!
Fourteen. When calling someone for work, stick to your purpose. Extra chatter breeds irritation. Especially avoid questions like "Where are you now?" (Unless they ask you the same, which changes things.) What business is it of yours to know their whereabouts? Your work getting done is what matters. When someone barely known asks this question, I feel I've sinned by getting acquainted with them. Avoid all manner of (utterly) personal topics as much as possible. This is called courtesy. Two days ago I met a boy. Now whenever he knocks, he asks, "Brother, where are you?" I'm beginning to think giving him time was my mistake.
Fifteen. Woke up this morning to see a Facebook news item: Adultery increasing divorce rates among birds.
I'm thinking, we humans can't manage to be human, yet birds are becoming human!
Sixteen. Having to care for those we don't love—this is what they call a job.
Some relationships are like jobs.
Thoughts: One Thousand Twenty-Two
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One. I watch Mother, sitting there sorting red spinach from morning. How can she! Such patience Mother has! I find it so boring just to watch... let alone sort! I understand now—I must marry someone who can sort red spinach!
Two. I'm happy when you're busy, because then you can forget me. Among so many people, I won't come to mind. I don't want you to be alone and miss me. Missing is also great pain, I know. I don't want you to suffer even this pain—I love you that much.
I'm thinking of giving you space, that's why I said it. Don't miss me.
Three. I used to wait to become successful. Then perhaps I'd have you, that's how it seemed. Now having lost everything, how do I still dare to want you? Such audacity I have!
Four. I dream that Tahsan has rejected me this time. Where exactly is my problem? Either it's you, or it's Tahsan, understand? Both are the men of my dreams.
Tahsan is actually famous too, just knows a bit of singing and what else! I've seen that many successful people become famous. I don't like it. I think I'm much smarter than them, but why am I such a loser?
Tahsan had a book out at the book fair. I read a few pages. Ugh! Such emotional writing! So very famous!
Day by day all my favorite celebrities lose their appeal to me. Even Tahsan now seems too famous to me.
Hrithik Roshan now seems downright foolish! Not because he's aged badly. I'm now drawn to someone's mind, looks don't attract me to anyone.
The word 'khyat' seems to have become the 'khyat' of 'bikhyat' (famous). The spelling might be 'kshyat'. Damn!
I have to spell correctly for you! What pointless labor!
Well, why am I saying all this? Is this how losers talk? Don't successful people feel like speaking this way?
Five. You dangled what we could have in front of me when you told me where you live. Then you simply rejected me.
It's just cruel.
Please don't reply to me ever again. I'll stop writing to you when I'll fall in love with someone else. I'll fall madly in love again. I can't wait for that day to come in my life again.
I'll write to you alone, please don't write back to me. I feel played by you when you finally reply to me.
Six. : What is the similarity between a child and a dick?
: Everyone thinks he has got the best one.
Seven. I don't respect your decision, but trying to do so causes me pain.
All your words are sacred, yet I burn to ashes in anguish at just one thing you said—you told me not to bother you.
Writing to you brings tears to my eyes. Never reply to me again. Nothing kills more than expectation!
Surely it's for the best that you don't write to me. I cry whenever you write.
Never tell me your address—I'll want to come running to you!
You are madness by another name.
Every morning I wake up forgetting that you're not mine. My devotion begins, my love-feelings, the current of sensation.
Before sleeping at night I remember—you don't want me.
What a state this is!
It will take much longer for this wound to heal. Your reign has begun in my city.
Your victory came by trampling over my grave.
You killed the child inside me this time too... as always.
Eight. If I hadn't said "I love you," I would have had your body today, wouldn't I?
I spoke what was true. If I must lose you for this, so be it.
Nine. Considering someone your own is deeply painful. One cannot easily consider someone their own. But once someone becomes yours, you remain their prisoner for life. They can break your heart in an instant.
Ten. The person at whose sight even winter's pale dawn looks colorful as a rainbow—that is your life's companion. Yet one must live without that very person! Is such living truly living, or merely the running out of years?
Eleven. Even as the water of a pond, I could sustain an entire life if you would scatter a handful of shiuli flowers with a smile.
Twelve. Though I failed this examination, I want you still to think me brilliant, because I love you.
Sometimes I feel like going to your city and making you fall in love again, creating trouble between you and your groom.
What I'd do after that, I haven't quite decided yet.
Thirteen. As I walk down the memory lane, a sense of nostalgia creeps over me, when the wings of my mind take me back to those wonderful cherished days, days which were full of joy and splendour suffused with golden vibrant colours, days which promised me a bright and beautiful future—evergreen days which were my childhood.
I can still visualize those splendid hours spent in the love and affection of beloved friends, hours full of innocence and carefree laughter, hours which held no pain or sorrow or the grim reality of life.
Those were the magic days when the mind was supercharged with the magnificence of only one thought: the thought of being alive in a world where little birds sang along in tune, flowers blossomed, winds whispered sweet caresses.
Those precious days have slipped away silently beyond my notice; today as I stand entangled in a web of misery and pain, engulfed in a world of sorrow, my mind walks down the memory lane—a lane I will never tire of walking.
Fourteen. Drawing a smile across lips like orange segments beneath a mustache grown wild with disobedience, he said, "Come, Shoyali, today I'll show you the river! There, on that horizon, they say the blue kingfisher roams free. I heard just the day before yesterday it broke from the cage of thirty-three bars and found its freedom. How it must have yearned, tell me! So I thought, today I'll scatter you too across the sky! Why not steal a few more colors from the heavens!"
Shoyali cries out in self-pity! "Don't do that... don't do that... not everyone wants to be free, Su! Some find solace in bondage, some find themselves in subjugation. Tell me, how long does an arrow stay in the sky once it leaves the bow?"
Fifteen. The truly religious person is non-sectarian.
Come, let us learn to question the religiosity of those with communal mindsets.
Sixteen. In this world, no one belongs to anyone. What good did it do having you all on my friend list if I have to like my own posts? Whom can I trust in this world!
Seventeen. Beware of loving people who lack common sense!