Reflection: Three Hundred Sixteen.
……………………………………..
One.
: What was in my mind,
I’m writing it all down. If you don’t like it, take the law into your own hands, how’s that?
You needn’t fear hurling direct abuse at me. I’ll never present this as evidence of your rudeness before anyone. I cannot tolerate hypocrisy,
so even if you dislike me, you won’t have to mutter sweet nothings before me. If you marry me,
and after marriage fall in love with someone else like Brother Humayun,
I’ll still keep you unbound, let you go. I’ll keep you in my heart’s chamber,
but never hold you captive. I just cannot accept multiple loves at once. I’m utterly simple,
a novice in love. This is the first time in my life I’m doing this with you. To say that I never liked anyone before you would be sheer duplicity, and you understand that too. But I’ve never been so mad for anyone before. And more importantly, though my intense affections have always remained unexpressed, this is the first time I’m showing such wild courage in revealing my feelings to someone about themselves!
(Hip hip hooray!
Applauuuuse……) Whatever
may be, somehow I feel,
you too will have to make me fall in love with you anew every day to truly receive my love. What I feel, I’ve told you. This is no acting,
no deception,
no exaggeration.
: Who are you?
: You asked,
who are you?
Surely next you’ll ask,
what’s the point?
I’ve memorized this!
Who am I?
The answer is:
I’m dark,
fat, short, a woman who looks like any ordinary Bengali five-rupee note. I’m a third-class person. I’m an all-too-familiar face from your blocklist. No, that’s wrong! Not one face,
twenty-four faces!
If you think
you’ll block this 25th ID of mine too, then I can offer you some advice—I’ll parade my dozen fake IDs before you one day,
and you’ll be able to make all of them citizens of your dream kingdom in very little time. This way your path to paradise will become even broader with minimal effort!
: Oh
I see. Not interested. Thanks. Bye.
: Light of the dark chamber. The fairy tale of evening lamps. Block these two IDs as well.
: OK.
: “There was a secret I meant to tell………..”
“Mother’s cooking, no more play………..”
These two are very dear to me. Do you like them?
Didn’t you take any photographs today? Upload one! If there are privacy concerns, then display your photographs to me in my inbox!
I have strong objections to several points in your post about Stockholm syndrome. It would have been better if you could elaborate. When you write about any concept, you cannot inject your own invented points into it. Whether or not you can keep your writing faithful to the original, you surely cannot distort it to this extent, can you? Sir, you reminded me of the movie ‘Highway’! If you’re trying to make me understand something through that post, then listen, I am far more aware of this matter. A friend of mine became a mother, but she couldn’t feel anything like that at all! I don’t have very high demands regarding my career, but I must do something, even if it’s just decent enough, because my life isn’t mine alone. I have many responsibilities on my shoulders! Just as I want to live fully as a mother and wife, I also want to fulfill some of my duties as a human being. I really like my research-based job, which requires less time outside the home.
Think about another thing! After a certain time, the husband and children will become busy with their own lives—can a woman then spend her time merely managing the household? At that point, no one will think that this poor soul gave us the golden years of her life, now let’s give her some time! Of course, thinking this way isn’t even possible. Then what? Therefore, while there’s still time, I must make my own arrangements, mustn’t I? And I have no desire whatsoever to live in a nuclear family with you. I know from my own life how painful it is to live in a nuclear family! Don’t think I don’t know about joint families. I also know about the problems of joint families. People in Bangladesh no longer have the cooperative mindset they once had. Go to the villages and see! You won’t find anyone willing to help you with social work! Sir, you deliberately injected too much controversy into that status, didn’t you? You yourself are not conservative. Then why? Do you enjoy being criticized? Does it increase your value?
Two.
We lived in a two-story house right there at the head of Chittagong Medical. All around were grasses of many kinds. White cows grazed there, pale as blessed clouds. Nearby stood a shiuli tree. At dawn, a white sheet of shiuli flowers would be spread beneath the tree. We would go and shake the tree to bring down more of those intoxicatingly fragrant shiuli blossoms. We’d climb up to the roof, pluck jamuns from the tree and eat them. How colorful each of our faces would become!
We’d climb onto the tin roof to pick kamranga. We’d try to hunt birds with slingshots. Climbing trees, we’d gently lift the soft chicks from their nests and then come back down. If Mother saw us, she’d come running with a cane, and we’d flee. We’d climb the hill all the way to the top, to the forestry water tank. In the afternoons, lying on our beds, we could see a road beside our heads, and along that road we cousins would race each other. There was a wild bull. What rage he had! He’d charge at us with horns raised and destroy our bottle gourd patch. At night we’d hear the ceaseless calling of crickets. We’d chase fireflies. Somehow they’d always escape. They’d dance and fly all around us, yet remain uncatchable. Sometimes we’d trap them in bottles and keep them under our beds. The bottles would glow softly! How beautiful it looked! We’d cruelly pour salt on snails’ bodies. We’d throw mango pits here and there to see what would happen. From some of them, beautiful brown leaves would emerge. We’d make flutes from tender mango leaves. The joy of throwing stones to knock down mangoes in the afternoon—where else could such pleasure be found? Nearby was a pond. We’d skillfully hurl flat clay discs at its water, and the discs would skip across the surface, leaping and bounding!
There was a fruit orchard. There we’d all gather to play kings and subjects. We’d tie bamboo, wood, and vines with rope to make swords and guns. How intoxicating each of those afternoons was!
When I go there now, the old days seem to come circling back into memory’s chambers, one by one. Oh, I forgot to mention—I’ve given that place a name: Never Say Goodbye!
Thought: Three hundred seventeen.
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Some time ago, I made several suicide attempts. Let me not speak of that terrible time!
Until those suicide attempts, I was far more of a realist. Perhaps everyone is like that. I loved life deeply. I dreamed of doing many things. I refused to surrender to anything. Truth be told, even after losing again and again, I never accepted defeat. I believed that those who lose don’t vanish. Those who lose and stop—they are the ones who vanish. I had sworn to myself that no matter what storms came, I would never accept defeat. As long as there was life in this body, I would keep fighting with myself. Life was full of the clamor of such vows. How many dreams does a person live by!
In our society, when a boy or girl attempts suicide or actually commits suicide, we—and our society—seem to absolve ourselves quite comfortably by labeling that boy or girl as foolish, stupid, merciless toward life, and so forth. We go on to say: “Tsk! How selfish! Didn’t even think once about their parents! Just gave up like that!” With such pragmatic or philosophical pronouncements, we consider ourselves free of responsibility! At most, we express our sympathy for that boy or girl with a simple “Alas!” No one does anything more. But no one chooses suicide for pleasure. When people can find no meaning or purpose in staying alive, that’s when they want to end themselves. Then they only want release from the intense anguish within them. Nothing else, no one else, remains in their mind. People live by philosophy and theory to some extent, but they want to die even more to escape from pain. Through death, they seek freedom from that feeling of suffering and torment.
In this world, the greatest crimes receive punishment, but why is there no penalty for crimes like shattering someone’s dreams, or cruelty like stealing away all of someone’s feelings, or giving birth to deep trust only to murder it, or making promises and then breaking them more easily than glass bangles? To me, destroying all of someone’s dreams and dulling their capacity to feel seems equivalent to murder. How can someone live again when they have no dreams left? Death would be preferable to living like that. Sometimes people can survive even when their dreams are stolen, but when someone takes away their very capacity to feel, then while the body may somehow stay alive, the soul dies completely. Why is there no punishment in our law for stealing someone’s feelings? Of course, even if there were, what difference would it make? Lost feelings can never be returned! Sometimes I wonder why the law includes capital punishment. Is it because there’s no other cruel alternative? When a murderer is executed, the murdered person still cannot be brought back. Yet this is necessary. Evil people cling most desperately to life. And hearing of another evil person hanging might reform other evil people a little! Isn’t this the philosophy that drives the law?
Must we stay alive? Very well, I accept that. But how long can one keep acting with oneself? How much longer can we live swallowing our tears? Simply saying “don’t commit suicide” won’t reduce suicide rates. What’s needed is timely counseling, social reconstruction.
I have a strong desire—if there were any suicide prevention organization in Bangladesh, I would work there as a volunteer. Seeing Parombroto in the movie Hemlock Society inspired me so much.
According to WHO reports, twenty thousand people commit suicide in Bangladesh each year—that is, an average of fifty-five people kill themselves daily. The report also states that at least six and a half million more Bangladeshis are suicidal. Most of those who committed suicide had some form of mental illness. When mental problems increase, suicidal tendencies increase. After someone commits suicide, we begin to think about it. Where are we before they commit suicide?
What is suicide, really? This surge of people taking their own lives—is it not a form of silent genocide? Can the state evade responsibility for this? When suicides occur as a result of the countless complexities and misguided policies of state systems, is the state not their murderer? When an unemployed youth chooses the path of self-destruction because he could not find work, who bears responsibility for his death? In December 2010, when that Tunisian youth set himself ablaze due to unemployment, could the state escape accountability for his act? Why do we still refuse to think about these things? A nation progresses only when its citizens engage with matters of substance. Bad people naturally beget bad governments. Without the evolution of our thinking, no form of development is ever possible for us. The trivialities that consume us are beyond imagination! It is human nature to find joy in cheap pursuits. The more one can distance oneself from this tendency when the times demand it, the further one advances.
Let me tell you about a true incident. Let’s say her name was Nandini. Her father ran a very small business, her mother was a housewife. She was a child of the lower middle class. Because she was not considered beautiful, she had to endure various remarks both within her family and beyond it. “What will you do with your life? Nobody will ever marry you. When you grow up and try to take job exams, they’ll just turn you away. How can anyone be so dark! What’s the point of your studying? Oh dear, I feel terrible thinking about your father. How will the poor man ever get you married? Why do you eat so much? Eat less. You’re becoming like an elephant—are you even aware of this?” The girl committed suicide. She was only fourteen at the time. Not because she failed in love, not because she couldn’t perform well in exams… but because society couldn’t accept her as she was—out of rage, sorrow, and wounded pride, she chose the path of death. A girl of that age is guided far more by emotion than by reason or intellect. Before her death, her emotional core was subjected to continuous assault. No one ever valued her feelings or emotions. Nandini is a small example of how merciless society can be. On television in this country, they show dreams of girls becoming more confident and acceptable after applying Fair & Lovely. This means propaganda is being spread with state patronage that those who are dark-skinned and physically unattractive are less acceptable than others. When such causes intoxicate public consciousness with praise for fair skin, and some unfortunate Nandini becomes its victim, how can the state escape responsibility for such commercial incentives to suicide?
Badal harasses Megha relentlessly, trying to force love upon her. For two years during her SSC studies, Megha endured this torment. Badal’s persecution had made her life unbearable. Since Badal’s father was an influential man in the area, no one dared speak against him. Badal exploited this advantage skillfully, treating everything as a joke. Megha wasn’t brilliant academically, but she wasn’t terrible either. Needless to say, Badal had enjoyed all the pleasures of his wayward life for two years—books had never been part of his world. The SSC exams arrived. Thanks to leaked questions, Badal sat for the exam with the papers in hand, and his father’s influence ensured a favorable environment in the exam hall. Result—A+. Meanwhile, Megha, relying entirely on her own merit, earned an A. Emboldened by his good result, Badal confronted Megha and humiliated her cruelly for her supposedly poor performance. Along with two other friends, he subjected Megha to physical and mental abuse at will. In shame, rage, sorrow, and wounded pride, Megha hanged herself from the ceiling fan in her room. The question is: was this death? Or murder? Can the state evade responsibility for this?
Reflection: Three hundred eighteen.
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I am the child of a middle-class family. My father runs a small business. I am my parents’ eldest daughter. I have two younger brothers. One brother is in class four, the other in class eight. Five years ago, I was in class seven. My parents arranged my marriage then with a man who was ten years older than my father. This man had two daughters. The elder daughter was already married and had a child. The younger daughter was in class five at the time. He had married three times before, but all three wives had run away with other men. I could not accept this marriage proposal at all. The man was in Saudi Arabia then. He lived abroad and came home occasionally on leave. After the marriage was settled, the man’s elder brother came to our house and put a ring on my finger as an engagement token. From then on, the man would call every night. When it was 9 PM in Saudi Arabia, it was midnight here. He worked as a manager at some construction firm and finished work at that time. I was forced to wake up at midnight to talk with him. If I didn’t speak with him, my parents would scold me severely. The man would speak about my body in vulgar ways. At that age, I didn’t understand much of what he said, but the language he used was unbearable to hear. I would just listen to his words and weep. I cried so much that my pillow would be soaked with tears. One day I told my mother that the man spoke to me in disgusting ways, that I couldn’t bear to hear such things, that it made me cry terribly, and that I would never speak with him again. For saying this, my mother grabbed my hair and beat me severely. That day I wept with such heart-breaking anguish—only the Almighty witnessed it. My mother wouldn’t let me go to school, kept me locked in the house, while that man kept calling, spewing every filthy word that came to his mouth.
I could no longer bear it. One day I lied and somehow managed to leave home, went to school, embraced my friends and wept bitterly, telling them everything. Then they all went together to our school teacher and told her about my situation. She said, “All right, you all go to class, we’ll see what can be done.” After school hours, she took me to the headmaster’s house. I was trembling with fear. I couldn’t find the courage to speak on my own.
I don’t know how long I stayed at the headmaster’s house. After a long while, the headmaster called me and said, “Officials from a human rights organization have been sent to your home. In a little while, the chairman of your area and your parents will come to take you. There’s nothing more to fear.” Hearing all this, my hands and feet went cold, as if I had lost all power of speech. What was happening! This was all beyond my imagination! After this I was taken home. When I arrived home, I saw that people from our neighborhood had crowded into our house to see me. I felt like crying so much then. I felt like a wooden figurine. Seeing those people, anger was born in my heart. Where had all these people been all this time? When I had wept alone in that closed room, where had this stream of theirs been? Coming home, I learned that apparently 10-12 officers had come to our house. They had humiliated my parents in front of everyone in the area before leaving. Hearing this, I cried the most. I could never have imagined that because of such an act of mine, they would come and humiliate my parents. Whatever else might happen, how could I dishonor my parents? I truly hadn’t understood this beforehand. On the other hand, my parents also misunderstood me. They thought I had deliberately sent people to the house to humiliate them. I couldn’t make them understand the truth at all. So today, for these 5-6 years, I have lived as a thorn in my parents’ eyes. My patience is running out. Now I want to do something. I want to see smiles on my parents’ faces. I want them to be able to say with pride to everyone, “This is my daughter!” But how will I do that?
The main reason for arranging my marriage with that man was that my father had incurred a debt of about one thousand fifty rupees in business at one place. He had said that if I was given in marriage to him, he would pay off that money for my father. The man wanted to transfer much property in my name. Along with this, he had also tempted my father with some more cash money. My father’s financial situation wasn’t very good. My father had also accumulated some debts in other places. So my parents had agreed to this marriage.
My parents have pushed me far away. When I tried to speak to them about my rights, they would say that I had wronged them, and therefore had no claim to anything from them. What happened with my parents occurred entirely without my knowledge. And if that unknowing act was my transgression, then what was it that was deliberately done to me with full awareness? I too have been wronged. I am the victim, so I know what I have been through. No one else can understand it. They cannot even imagine the extent of my anguish. Only the one who suffers truly knows and understands; the rest can at best make guesses. I have forgiven my parents. They have been humiliated in our community—whether justly or unjustly—and I want nothing more than to restore their lost honor. Whatever they have lost because of me, I want to return as much as I possibly can. I have nothing else left to desire in this life.
When that man came to the country, he met with me. My education had nearly come to a halt due to lack of money. At the time of filling out the JSC exam form for Class Eight, I needed four thousand taka. I couldn’t manage to arrange that money by any means. I went to him seeking help as a younger sister would. He told me that if I sold my body to him, he would give me the money to fill out the form. After that, I got help from friends, my mother also helped a little without telling my father, and the school waived the rest. Even though I got A+ in the JSC exam in Class Eight, I couldn’t study science due to lack of money, and enrolled in arts in Class Nine. With great difficulty, fighting against various adversities, I passed SSC with 4.38 GPA from the village and came to Dhaka. I enrolled in the same college as a girl from our area. We lived together. Her father supported me financially for the first few months. After that, I managed two tutoring jobs and somehow covered my living expenses and educational costs.
I don’t know
how I am right now,
what I’m doing,
why I’m doing it. How long I can keep dragging my existence forward like this, I can’t understand that either. My parents don’t send any money. When I call, we talk,
otherwise even that doesn’t happen. They’re still angry with me. They have no respect in the neighborhood. Because of me, they’ve lost everything. Our family is very poor in the area, neglected,
ignored. No one loves me, no one speaks two kind words to me. I am very poor, very helpless, very oppressed. When I open my eyes I don’t see light,
only darkness lies ahead. If my tutoring stops, I don’t know how I’ll continue my studies. Everyone at this age fulfills so many desires and pleasures,
and I struggle to meet even the bare minimum needed to survive. The course of my life is in my own hands. My friends have their parents beside them,
their relatives. They won’t lose, won’t be lost. If they stumble, how many people are there to lift them up!
If they get lost, their entire families would be lost with them! They can feel that dependence, they have that security. But if I get lost, only I will be lost. No one else will lose anything. If I fail, I alone will fail. But if I succeed, my parents will succeed with me too, their lost honor in society’s eyes will return once more.
My words:
Being able to show something to those who neglect you today—that is life itself. Such a day will come
when your honor will become so great that you won’t even have time to return their neglect. Perhaps
so many more important tasks will pile up before you that you’ll have more crucial things to do than remember their past behavior. Your busyness will increase,
for yourself,
for your family,
for your community,
for society—so much work will appear before your eyes. There is no sweeter revenge than advancing yourself further. You don’t need to give answers with your mouth,
life itself gives the answer. Everyone receives their due according to their deeds, in time. For this, one must wait patiently.
Thought: Three hundred nineteen.
……………………………………..
You suffered a lot once, didn’t you?
You don’t need to say so much,
people start noticing!
The fool doesn’t understand anything!
Everyone who rises up acts like that. Well, you’re always online, yet you’re not replying to my texts. I know
you don’t want to maintain any contact with me. But you can’t say that directly either. Why do you do this?
You had said I was your good friend. That was probably one of those things you say because you “have to say it,” wasn’t it? Fine. I’m also thinking
I’ll never maintain any kind of contact with you again.
In one of your posts
I really liked it at first. I liked this line the most—
Burnt bread doesn’t hurt anyone,
but bad behavior does. Ever since reading this, I’ve been feeling somehow uncomfortable. I think
I’ve done something wrong. I’m truly sorry and repentant for my bad behavior. Would you forgive me out of your own goodness? And for your father, I send my prayers and love.
I need to talk to you. It’s very urgent! Either unblock my number, or respond here. It’s extremely urgent! I desperately need to apologize to you. I promise, after that I won’t bother you anymore. Never! I’m telling the truth. Please answer. I see your phone is off. What’s the point of keeping your phone off anyway?
Maybe you won’t say anything at all. I can’t stay awake any longer either. I said a lot of terrible things to you. Don’t hold onto all my words like that! How awful is that, tell me!
Even worse than that is the fact that I’ve fallen in love with you!
It’s wrong for an ordinary girl to have feelings for public figures like you. I know. But what can I do, tell me—
the heart doesn’t understand! Actually, I used to read your writing. You write beautiful stories. But after reading your last piece, I’ve been consumed with remorse. You must have been hurt,
otherwise you wouldn’t have written like that. Since then I’ve been calling incessantly. Your phone is completely off!
God! Why don’t these intense pangs of remorse stay in mind when I’m doing wrong! It’s truly very difficult to avoid the pleasure of wrongdoing!
You wretched boy! Are you there? Of course you are! Facebook and you are each other’s complement. Yesterday I got angry and deleted all your texts from Facebook. Sorry. One benefit though—I can talk to you like a completely new person from my side. There’s no reference to any previous chats!
Isn’t that amusing?
Now if I want, I don’t have to take you quite so seriously in this virtual world!
You’re no one to me anymore. There’s no relationship between you and my face or my mask anymore. Now you’re my sparring partner. Purely pure! You’ve taught me a great lesson. Not from your writing or words,
but from your behavior—what I’ve learned is that the virtual world and the real world should never be mixed. They are two different kinds of worlds. Mixing them creates utter chaos! Don’t take offense at my words again though!
There’s no need to reply either. Actually, I have a terrible headache. I’m just babbling for no reason.
You haven’t done anything, it’s not your fault, aren’t you my darling, my sweetheart, my precious one,
what can you do, tell me?
But you’ve actually done quite a lot. You’ve stolen the peace from my heart,
carved out a vast space in my inner world,
turned me into a jealous woman. Love turns even a silly type of girl into a spiteful one! Actually, the mistake is mine. I thought of you like any of the other ten. What should I do,
tell me! An item like you, a bird like you—I’d never encountered before. If I had encountered one earlier, maybe I could have played around a bit, had some practice, could have tackled you better too. Those who have come into my life or wanted to come,
they came for love or near-love, none came driven by lust. Those who want that,
they understand just by looking at me
that nothing about me is like that!
I’m not someone who can give them anything. Why didn’t you understand, you wretched boy?
When you used to message me, ask for my phone number, want to meet—I was over the moon! I thought you had special feelings for me. You remember, I wasn’t willing at first. Then when we went to Nakshatrabari together, your behavior made me feel that you truly wanted me. But after returning from Sylhet, I became completely confused. Gradually I understood that my assumptions were flawed from the beginning. I had no idea you had so many followers. I thought at most there’d be a thousand or so. Later I saw you were quite the red-signal guy!
I don’t blame you. With so many choices, anyone’s head would spin! If I had so many boys surrounding me, I’d feel like Queen Elizabeth too. After understanding this, I’ve tried to take you lightly, and still am. But the problem lies elsewhere. The more I try to take you lightly, the more my love for you grows. Your slightest neglect or anything suspicious appears before me magnified threefold, making my hurt threefold as well. I’m becoming obsessively suspicious again. I know very well this makes no sense. I’ve always known and understood you as Rezvi the inner person, not Rezvi Akhond the public figure. You were never Rezvi Akhond to me, only Rezvi. That’s the problem.
From now on I’ll treat you not as Rezvi, but as Rezvi Akhond. I’ll write beautiful comments on your work with “wow,” “ah,” “aha,” “uh.” I too will become your fan—a very strong fan, whose blade will never stop even when the power goes out! I’ll never think of you as mine again. That’s all for today. I’ve rambled on too much. Bye.
How much I love you, beloved, you’ll never know.
Your languid movements stir tenderness in mind and body…
Kiss me on the lips, burn me in your fire of love,
Whether it be night or dawn—drown me as you please
In the depths of your intoxicating spell.
Hey there, Mr. Writer! You didn’t say how my instant verse turned out! Always absorbed in your own writing—won’t do! A humble soul like me can surely hope for the great Rezvi Akhond’s grace and critique!
Thought: Three hundred twenty.
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One.
When Ma would occasionally tell Baba to take religious vows, I’d hear him give the same reply—I’m not an atheist, but as long as my parents are alive, I want to honor their name.
Then I only heard the words. Now I can truly understand.
Another thing Baba would say with considerable pride: My children are watching their father’s ideals… surely they too will try to walk this path.
Without saying anything to anyone, father suddenly departed for the land of no return, too soon, too suddenly. I was in the middle of my Honours third-year finals then, and my younger brother was taking his HSC tests. Then the year swept past like a storm. With her modest job and father’s meager pension (father hadn’t completed twenty-five years of service, so it was half-pension), mother paid off all debts and began another struggle—keeping two children in the city for their education while living in rented rooms. But today I feel: this woman who could never bear to be alone, who never once went to the market to buy even a sari for herself, who brought her salary straight to father whenever she was paid—what am I doing as her child today? Staying in the city, absorbed in thoughts of my own career, my own future! How selfish I am! Lately I keep thinking: let me just run to mother’s side! If mother too suddenly departs, I will never be able to forgive myself.
This intense mental anguish is perhaps what we call the cruel defeat of life by livelihood. Is there no way out of this?
Two.
Some people have ears, and they have brains. They listen, they understand.
Some people only have ears. So they hear gossip.
One of the golden rules of office life: never sulk with your boss. Save all your sulking for your girlfriend.
Scolding follows the law of conservation of matter. Scolding is neither created nor destroyed. It merely transforms from one state to another.
Scolding also follows the law of potential energy. The potential energy stored in a scolding is proportional to the height from which it falls. In this case, the weight of the scolder and the scolded, or gravity, play no role.
Remember, your family is not responsible for the scolding you receive at the office. So come, let us take scoldings, let us give scoldings. Let us work peacefully, live peacefully.
Crocodiles in the water, tigers on land.
Boss at the office, wife at home.
O Earth! Split in two, I’m climbing a tree!
. . . . . . . Dedicated to the married friends
Three.
A survey has revealed that, according to nurses, these are the five regrets people express most often on their deathbeds:
1. If only I had lived a little more for myself—not just for others!
2. I could have worked less!
3. If only I hadn’t kept my feelings so hidden within myself!
4. If only I had spent more time with friends!
5. If only I had done more of what brought me joy!
Come, let us live a little more fully—without regrets… before death arrives!
Four.
Manna Dey. The magician of voice. Bengal’s most beloved treasure. Bangladesh’s true friend. I have spent many moments of joy and sorrow in his intimate company. How many times I have sought peace in his songs! He taught me that beyond “eat, drink and be merry,” there exists life—a life of simple joy, a life of plain truth, a life of ruminating on beautiful moments; he extended an invitation of melody to the world’s festival of joy. My towering, meaningless arrogances are perpetually crushed to dust in his vastness.
The gaps that remain in this daily, familiar existence—the man who filled them has now departed for the land of no return. Some people need not live forever to live forever. His unique, invaluable gift to music will live on forever in legendary excellence. Rest well in that quiet country, great artist. When all other words sleep in silent peace, your every word will still spread across all mind-soul-heart; always.
Five.
How are the days passing?
Days? Oh yes! Just like this, passing by…they pass.
Very busy these days?
Oh no! Is anyone really truly busy? Mostly we just perform the act of being busy. There’s always time to live properly!
Six.
When you lecture your colleague right in front of your boss or gossip about them behind their back, you often forget that no matter how much your boss trusts you, ultimately your boss will remain the boss, but your colleague will move away from you. In such cases, intelligent bosses generally don’t harbor very good opinions about you in their minds. This kind of childishness may be novel for you, but not for them. They are the boss precisely because they are accustomed to it. One can grow great by becoming great oneself; only weak-minded people grow by diminishing others.
Seven.
Lately, sometimes even after thinking quite smartly, I end up acting like a fool. I noticed that even in appearance, a certain foolish flavor is gradually creeping in. Acting foolishly is terribly uncomfortable. This discomfort doesn’t easily fade in a day, or even in several days. I need to reduce thinking of people as fools. Even those who belong to the genuine fool community shouldn’t be thought of as fools anymore. Everyone is, perhaps, somewhat foolish in one way or another. Some are more foolish, some less. At times, everyone is a fool!
Thought: Three hundred twenty-one.
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My story begins like this………I entered into a relationship with a boy. He had kidney problems, his father wouldn’t speak to him at all, and he’d been raised by his aunt since childhood. Hearing all this, a certain sympathy grew in me for him, which eventually transformed into something like love. There were many others in his life besides me. Whenever I caught him, he would apologize, touch my head and swear it wouldn’t happen again. I would forgive him. He would be caught again. I would show magnanimity again. This is what we call the vicious cycle of a woman’s shamelessness! What is the way out of this? Women understand everything, you see! But that’s just it………shameless!
I’ve told you what happened! Now let me break it down a bit. Our love was three months old when suddenly he said he wouldn’t continue the relationship anymore. And that too, without any reason! We were classmates. Same department. Second year finals were approaching. Hearing his words, I went mad. I would call his friends and cry, since he wouldn’t pick up the phone. Many of them got very annoyed. But what could I do! I was utterly alone then. Having failed to get into any public university in the admission tests, I was too ashamed to contact any of my old friends. Most of them were studying in public universities. Having gotten no chance anywhere, I would cry myself to sleep, wake up and cry again, then fall asleep once more. It was in the midst of all this that I met him, and then came love. I had become terribly dependent on him. And this very person was saying he would just leave like this, without any reason! How could one accept it? What terrible pain! I would cry day and night like a madwoman. I couldn’t eat. I would cry even in my sleep. He knew all this. To tell the truth, I had made an effort to let him know these things, hoping that knowing might bring him back!
And so the second year exams arrived. I couldn’t study. Whenever I sat down to read, I would think, I’ll see him in the exam hall! What will happen then? I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold myself together if I saw him. On the first exam day, we met. He came up to me and told me to take the exam well. For nearly twenty minutes before that, I couldn’t write anything. After he told me to do well, I could write. I thought, perhaps everything would be alright! He was my only consolation—I had never realized before just how much so. On the following exam days, I would wait in anticipation. Perhaps he would come again. Come and say, “Write!”……..No, he never came again.
In the middle of my exams, my father had a stroke. We are three sisters. I am the eldest. In a household with no son, what would happen if the father wasn’t there—days passed in such anxiety. When one blow follows another, a person becomes somewhat hardened. I did too. I steadied myself. Pushed thoughts of him a little away from my mind. During this time, out of necessity, I reconnected with old friends. An elder brother who used to coach me for admissions had explained this matter very well. When third-year classes began, he came to talk again. Asked for forgiveness. Told my friends to please have me speak with him a little. He had made a mistake, he was deeply repentant. He would come before me wanting to talk. I wouldn’t answer. I was afraid—not of him, but of myself. I felt that once I started talking to him, I wouldn’t be able to step away again. After many days of confessions of guilt and promises, I forgave him.
I had thought he understood his mistake. But I didn’t know then that some people, even understanding everything, remain committed to making mistakes their entire lives.
At home, they were pressing hard for marriage. But how could I speak of him at home! He said, “Manage it somehow.” Crying and pleading, I somehow managed it. Being father’s beloved daughter, he accepted everything. I was their first child, born sixteen years after my parents’ marriage! If I wanted something, they would make the impossible possible for me! Of course, I had always asked for little. I couldn’t speak of him directly—I only said I wouldn’t marry now, I would continue my studies. Because they loved me so much, my parents agreed to my words. And there I was, neglecting my parents’ love for his love! My parents trusted me so completely, and I carried on this romance with him, barely studying at all. My parents had so much anxiety about me. My sisters’ future, my parents’ dreams fulfilled… I considered him more certain than all of this as my future.
Meanwhile, father recovered somewhat. Sometimes I would go out with him, skipping classes. One such day while wandering, I suddenly discovered on his phone that he proposed to many girls—he had even proposed to one of our classmates just the day before. His hand was in mine at that moment. I pulled my hand away and began to cry. I felt utterly helpless then. He then earnestly explained that it was just for fun. Would two people from the same class have relationships and no one would know? Was he stupid? And so on, and so forth. Crying, I eventually accepted his explanation. To make me believe him, he gave me his Facebook password. I didn’t want it—he forced it on me. I thought, perhaps it was my mistake! How can you distrust someone you love so much?
One day I suddenly logged into her Facebook account. I saw she had indeed given me the correct password. I felt both reassured and remorseful—reassured that she had been truthful, yet guilty for having doubted her and for accessing her account without her knowledge. Meanwhile, she had completely forgotten that she had given me the password. Perhaps she had shared it in a moment of distraction and simply couldn’t remember afterward. Another day. That day I was feeling deeply melancholy. I spoke with her for a long time, and my spirits lifted somewhat. Afterward, saying she was going to sleep, she hung up the phone. About an hour later, unable to sleep myself, I went on Facebook to pass time and, for some reason, decided to visit her profile. As soon as I logged in, I saw she had been active just moments before. Yet she was supposed to have gone to sleep an hour earlier. In her inbox, I found conversations with one of our classmates and her sister. She called both of them “sister.” They seemed to be discussing some matter, and I found myself mentioned in their exchange. These girls apparently believed that I harbored suspicions about them. She had protested, insisting that I didn’t suspect her because of them. But what she wrote next left me stunned, reading it over and over again. She had written that she didn’t actually love me. She was only pretending to be in love because of my obsessive behavior. These words were repeated so many times, in so many different ways, that I felt smaller than a worm in a sewer.
Our in-course exams were underway at the time. Before the exam began, I asked that girl to stay back afterward. After the exam ended, I sat down with both the girl and my boyfriend. I showed them screenshots of the messages. I asked what was the point of all this? I had already pulled myself together. Why did he need to enter my life again? Why all these repeated lies? He couldn’t give me any answer that day. The girl stayed for a while and then left, saying she had “work to do.”
I had wanted to pay for his form-filling fees. Even after this incident, I gave him the money. He kept trying to convince me that what I had seen was wrong. He said he had only written those things to appease that girl, whom he called “sister,” because she was angry. Yet the next day, that very same girl called me aside in the department and told me that he truly didn’t love me. That he was just pretending because I cried so much.
Even before this, I had learned that his claims about kidney problems and family troubles were all lies. His family did have some issues, but they were different problems entirely. He had never told me the truth about himself or his family. In casual conversation, he would tell one lie after another. He smoked heavily. Despite promising me many times, touching my head and swearing “I won’t smoke anymore,” he continued smoking. When he got the chance, he drank alcohol too. Sometimes he even used drugs. I hadn’t known any of this before, but later I discovered everything. Taking it all together, I became severely depressed once again. I couldn’t understand what was happening to me, or why. Perhaps I never even tried to understand—enslaved by blind emotion, I forgot about the whole world, forgot about my own heart, wanting only to believe his words. However, certain incidents aroused my suspicions about him, and I began investigating him through various sources. Once again, I removed myself from his life.
Meanwhile, the third-year exams ended. He began trying to convince me again. And I began ‘understanding’ again. The day before his birthday, I gifted him a shirt. I planned to surprise him at midnight with his friends. I arranged for a cake to be delivered to his home. At eleven o’clock, he called to say he was very tired and going to sleep. I felt terrible. When he sleeps, he never answers his phone. How would I wish him? I had planned so much! The previous time when I withdrew myself from him, he changed his Facebook password. But his account was still logged in on my messenger. I logged out of my account and entered his, only to discover he was in the throes of love with another girl. Right before my eyes, I watched him chatting with her after telling me he was going to sleep. I immediately sent him a screenshot of his live romance. My mind wasn’t functioning. He called me, said something or other, then hung up. I couldn’t understand anything at all. I kept calling repeatedly to wish him on his birthday. What was happening to me!………What is still happening even now!
After that incident, I tried very hard to keep myself strong. And I did, for six months. Every day he would make hundreds of calls and send messages. He would try to explain that it was an accident. All his texts and calls accumulated in my blocked folder. I desperately wanted to talk. But still, I wouldn’t. Finally, he called his mother and made such a scene of crying that his parents called me, pleading earnestly for me to speak with their son. I told them he was in love with someone else. They wouldn’t believe it. After all, it’s their own son! To parents, even seven murders by their child are forgiven! And this is merely love! They implored me to speak with him. Once again, I surrendered—to myself.
Perhaps he’ll do this again—come and go, come and go………or leave altogether. Where does this end?
Perhaps he runs to other places because I don’t fulfill certain desires of his. I want only an emotional relationship, but he wants some bonus too—meaning he wants physical intimacy as well. Maybe that’s why the equation doesn’t balance. I want to marry him. What he wants—that’s what I can’t understand.
Sometimes I think perhaps our marriage won’t happen. But my heart still refuses to believe it. This much is certain though—he won’t leave me either. Because then everyone would blame him! Rather, he’ll create such a situation that I myself would leave him. But I don’t want to go. If he truly falls in love with someone else, I’ll actually be happy. When he suffers the pain of loving someone, then at least he’ll understand my suffering!
Dear reader,
You might say, I know all this, but I can’t understand anything—
why am I saying this? The truth is, when a person loses faith in themselves, perhaps that’s when they seek solutions from others. Or when accepting their own solution becomes painful,
they provoke others. Being deeply introverted by nature, I can’t tell anyone about my pain. Instead, everyone comes to me with all their troubles. They think I’m very happy. And I do show myself to be just that! Why I suddenly said all this,
I don’t know. Perhaps I wanted to hear something,
wanted some strength. I know
no one can reduce my confusion by giving advice. In this world, one must fight one’s own battle alone!
I don’t talk to him anymore. Even so, one day he humiliates me over a trivial matter. I haven’t given anyone the right to belittle me in front of others whenever they please. Yet he
does exactly that. Whenever he gets the chance, he diminishes me before people. Because I love him, I give him the opportunity to insult me. Without my silent consent, no one’s father would dare humiliate me! Love makes one endure everything in the most wretched way!
Thought: Three hundred and twenty-two.
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Actually, I’ve been involved in a relationship for almost five years. My boyfriend is a marine officer. We first met talking over the phone. He had gotten my number from my friend. I didn’t know this before. He
already knew quite a bit about me—
where I lived, what I did, what my family was like,
all of this. He had learned all this from my friend. He was a friend of my friend’s older brother. I knew none of this. I found out only recently while talking with him. We were friends for about six months at first,
then we got into a relationship. He proposed to me,
and from a certain weakness toward him, I accepted his proposal. When our relationship began, I was studying honors in English,
in the fifth semester. This was 2011.
He had just graduated from the marine academy then, waiting to go aboard ship for his cadetship.
He was exceedingly temperamental and stubborn. Whatever he said was right, everything else was wrong—this was his sole principle. From the very beginning, he dominated me intensely. I didn’t understand these dynamics back then, so I simply went along with whatever he said. As this continued, when the relationship began to feel like too much of a burden, we had been together for nearly a year. He was at sea then, and I felt almost compelled to tell him that I probably couldn’t do everything his way, and perhaps never would, so it would be better if we ended this journey together. He immediately called from the ship and began crying, trying to convince me in various ways, emailing to say that hearing this had made him ill. He even informed the friend who had given him my number. One of his colleagues from the ship even emailed me, saying, “Sister, if you do this, we won’t be able to save Hasan.” At that time, my boyfriend promised that he would never again pressure me about anything or dominate me. He loved me deeply, he couldn’t live without me. And so on, and so forth. Though I kept telling him repeatedly that staying with him was difficult for me, the compassion I felt for him made me waver—thinking I wouldn’t keep the relationship, yet returning to it anyway.
Our relationship would sometimes be good, sometimes bad—this is how it continued. But what he would do unconsciously was this: under the guise of caring for me more, he began dominating me excessively once again. He would impose tremendous psychological burdens on me. I tried to make him understand this many times, but he would get angry with me instead, every single time. The truth is, both his audacity and his anger were excessive. I could never get angry with him, while all the anger and stubbornness was always his domain. When he got angry, I had to speak softly and gently to calm his rage—always, without exception! Doing all this caused me great pain. I was forbidden from talking to any male classmates at university, though I barely spoke to anyone anyway except when absolutely necessary. His rule was that even when necessary, I couldn’t talk to any boys. He would constantly inquire through one of my friends about what I was doing, whom I was talking to. Whatever that friend of mine could learn about me, she would report it all to him.
Though I’m not an exceptionally good student, I try in my own way to achieve good results. I would talk to my classmates only about studies. I was always busy with exams, classes, and such matters. I’m the youngest in my family. Both my brothers are older than me. My eldest brother and sister-in-law are both bankers, and my younger brother is an engineer, his wife a doctor—both live in Australia. Because I was focused on my studies and had no bad record, everyone in my family and all our relatives were very fond of me. My family never forced me about anything. They all believed that whatever I did would be something good, and I too always tried to live up to that faith.
Meanwhile, my boyfriend’s excessive anxieties about me. He doesn’t like me talking with friends, forbids me from going on picnics, and even prevented me from attending my honors life rag day—which was conducted so beautifully and decorously. I’ve tried to conform myself to all his demands, fearing he might get angry again! Sometimes I felt he was doing all this deliberately. He knew my family never restricted me from anything, and I never did anything that warranted restriction… yet even harmless activities, he wouldn’t let me do. His philosophy was: why give girls so much freedom? With freedom, apparently, girls become corrupt! My friends also see me differently, know me as a good girl. Yet just the other day, he wouldn’t let me attend a friend’s wedding. He doesn’t like such things, he says. He threatens me—if I go to the wedding, there will be trouble between us.
I entered this relationship because I had fallen in love with him, even though I knew my family disapproved of such things—they only bring pain, and such love doesn’t last in life. Whatever I’ve received in life, I received before asking for it. And when I didn’t get something, I never threw tantrums or got angry trying to obtain it. But only for this relationship did I go against my entire family, causing everyone great pain. He would always be away on ships—my family didn’t like this. Besides, his family background, financial situation, education—nothing matched our family’s standards, so initially no one was willing to accept him. I fought many battles to convince my family about him.
Everything seems fine, but I’m deeply frightened about certain things. He will never let me work, though he used to say he’d allow me to teach, and now he says he won’t even allow that. In my family, my father and brothers want me to pursue BCS, banking, teaching, or any good job. Hearing this, he says, “If you work, you’ll have to go outside, and mixing with the outside world, you’ll become corrupted. Going out means you’ll have to push through crowds, ride public transport where so many people’s bodies will touch yours”—he easily constructs a thousand such bizarre arguments against my working. I want to work because I’ve studied this far, from a prominent private university no less, spent so much money completing my honors—and I’ll have no identity of my own? Will I remain dependent on others my entire life without becoming self-reliant? Won’t I do anything for my family? Won’t I be able to fulfill any of my dreams?
Though I move about in a burqa, I still try to dress beautifully and elegantly in full-sleeved salwar-kameez and hijab when visiting close relatives’ homes or attending family gatherings. But he has made it very clear in the harshest terms that I cannot go anywhere without the burqa. Though he used to show much love alongside his anger before, lately he only shows severity. When he keeps saying that he won’t let me work, won’t let me leave the house, won’t let me appear before anyone, I tell him that my family never controlled me to this extent—look, I never went astray, never did anything wrong in my life, so why are you doing this? You can trust me; what I didn’t do before, I won’t do now either. Hearing this, he says that I’m apparently learning to speak too much by mixing with bad friends and becoming corrupted. That I’m apparently following their bad ways.
He has warned me that if I take a job, he will leave me, and if I don’t follow his words, then even if he leaves me now, it won’t cause him much pain. He used to feel more affection for me before, apparently, but not anymore. Lately, when he gets angry with me, he starts addressing me rudely out of stubbornness, hurls unspeakable abuse, and says many terrible things about my family and relatives too. Then I feel very hurt………Yet again, in good times, this very same person is so wonderful.
I’ve started sharing some of these matters with Ammu, because I can’t bear it alone anymore. Besides, from the way I speak on the phone, Ammu can somewhat sense what’s happening between us. Ammu often tells me, “There’s still time, come back, otherwise your life will turn to complete ashes. He wants to make you into a wooden puppet. However he wants, you’ll have to dance accordingly. After marriage, your in-laws will join him in this oppression too.” Ammu also says, “We all tried to make you understand so much, but you wouldn’t listen to any of our words then. So many good proposals came before, and we kept turning them away. You’ve wasted the last two years carelessly—never mind the time before that, you were at least busy with your studies then. Wherever we arrange your marriage, we’ll see and understand everything, we’ll settle all matters before the wedding itself. We’ll never want anything but your good, we’ll try our utmost within our means, and the rest is your fate.”
Though I understand very well that if his words are contradicted, he will leave me at any time—he himself often says this—still, closing my eyes and abandoning all this affection, love, and familiarity built over so long is extremely painful. In our long journey together, there were many bad times, I admit; but some good times passed between us two as well. That means he’s not always bad!
My master’s degree will also end this December. My boyfriend is at sea now, and he’ll be back in the country in a few days. Then perhaps we’ll have to come to a decision. If I want to marry him, I’ll have to accept all his preferences and marry him on his terms; otherwise, he has other plans.
When he behaves rudely, when he scolds me, I say nothing to him, just silently listen to everything he says. Because whatever he says, it’s justified. But if I say the same thing, it becomes a great catastrophe! The moment I utter something, he immediately etches it into his mind. Later he uses it to wound me again and again. In those moments I tell myself inwardly, no, I can’t go on like this anymore—if I stay, the danger will only keep growing. My family will be humiliated along with me. Rather than marrying him, it would be better to marry wherever my family decides after careful consideration. These thoughts come to my mind. But the moment he behaves a little kindly, or whenever I hear any couple talking about love or singing love songs, only his memory floods back and I feel like running straight to him. I feel tenderness for him, tears come. What a helpless state I’m living in—it’s impossible to explain or make anyone understand. I’ve managed to keep my studies on track with great difficulty; everything else is just passing by, God knows how. Caught in this dilemma of life, my insides are tearing apart, becoming shattered!