Thought: Three Hundred Seventy-Two
……………………………………………
Spent a wonderful evening with Bodhan Recitation School. Today is the school’s 19th birthday. With conversations, recitations, and songs, I had quite a time with the old familiar faces today!
I learned recitation there,
at one time I performed at many events under their banner. Those were truly beautiful days!
So when I spoke about my feelings today, I became somewhat nostalgic. This looking back is joyful!
(Though not all
‘looking back’ is.)… One cannot stay long in beauty,
perhaps that’s why it is beautiful.
Sushanta, the ripest fruit on the tree
is eaten by the crow. Don’t jump around and pick so much.
(Advice from a friend of mine)
There are some people who can never
appreciate. So, it’s foolish to judge yourself by what they say.
Kind words are healthier than chicken soup.
Sometimes it’s good not to think
what you say. Often, it’s better not to say what you think.
Departures always bring tears. Leaving behind this land of images, this land of poetry, he has gone to the land of no return. The eyes that held dreams of distant waterfalls, those eyes have gone out after spreading some wondrous, eternal flame. The hands that bore the defiant oath of not being chained, those hands will never write anything again. This is such a death,
even death pays homage to it.
Farewell Sunil Gangopadhyay. In this night’s rendezvous we remain awake and will remain,
carrying with us all your gifts.
Dear facebook ladies,
Please stop adding ‘Angel’, ‘Fairy’, ‘Divine’ etc before or after your facebook
names. Our ideas about those words is getting changed in a wrong way.
Thanks & Regards
October 29, 2012
The silent, sulking city.
I will touch the clouds. That’s why I’m going to the land of mountains. Oh my!!
Clouds behind mountains, or mountains behind clouds—hard to tell. The result of their hide-and-seek is the masterful arrangement of sun and shadow’s colored brush among the mountain’s green. Black? Deep blue? Or gray? Ah!
Beautiful as a painting? No!
Can any painting be this beautiful? Which artist in the world is this magnificent?
Otherworldly!
At Nilgiri. Parallel to the clouds. In gentle shade. The shade belongs to the mountains.
….. into the wild…. listening to
the music of silence… through the road running like a snake….. imbibing
moonlight trapped on the leaves & grass…… dancing darkness, enigmatic
trees….. hills around whispering like wisemen of ancient time….. Ah! The
Colourful Night! The Wild Blend!
Mountain soup. Mountain hospitality. Mountain breeze. And in that breeze, a sweet mountain melody floating from afar. What exquisite, masterful use of the flute! My conversation with the silent evening. Immersion in beauty. Patri Babu, won’t you write the story of our discourse?
Do write it,
please!
Each birthday takes me to different heights.
02-11-2011.
The results of the 30th BCS exam were announced. I came first in the Civil Service examination. What a grand birthday gift! A present from God.
02-11-2012.
Boga Lake. 2000 feet high. You have to travel from Ruma by four-wheeler. Rough and tumble mountain roads. You can’t climb to every height relying solely on your own two feet. Same here. To ascend the lake’s mountain, you need three legs. Two feet and a walking stick. Rows of clouds hugging the hills. Mountains on three sides of the lake. Absolutely intoxicating! Right beside it, the Bom village. Simple people, they are. Birthday celebration in a warm, intimate atmosphere. The afterglow of happiness found in little things takes time to fade. Mine hasn’t faded yet.
Thank you, God.
‘Though you knew me unworthy and inferior, you withheld nothing,
And knowing me undeserving of what you gave, you took nothing away.’
I’ve returned. To the clamor.
Nilachal. Today I witnessed clouds flying right past me. The touch of clouds! Ah!
If Ritwik Ghatak had come here for a holiday, we would surely have gotten another film—The Cloud-Capped Mountain. (Literally cloud-capped mountain.)
When you approach beauty, you realize how ugly you are. The towering arrogances crumble helplessly. You understand how much the mirror lies. I realized this in Bandarban. I understood what it feels like to introduce your girlfriend to someone impossibly handsome.
I’m going to Dhaka. No, that’s wrong. I have to go to Dhaka. Everyone has to go. So they go. They have to stay. So they stay. It’s one of the most expensive
slums on this planet! The last line isn’t mine. It’s from one of our professors at IBA.
There is a song in German:
How sweet are the girls of Paris!
When they whisper near your ear,
‘Monsieur, I am yours.’
Everyone laughs and looks, everyone speaks
Addressing you as ‘tu.’
And whispers in your ear,
‘I will leave you
And go to no one else.’
But alas,
Not only to you, but to five
Others they say the very same thing.
In English they say,
‘Carrying coal to Newcastle,’ in Hindi they say, ‘Taking bamboo to Bareilly’ (where apparently bamboo grows in abundance),
In Russian they say,
‘Taking a samovar to Tula’ (where supposedly most of the world’s samovars are made), in Gujarati they say, ‘Going to the river with a full pitcher’
And in French they say, ‘Going to Paris with one’s own wife.’
— Syed Mujtaba Ali, ‘Panchtantra’
(How they long to go to Paris!! Why do these boys rush off to America for PhDs!!…….
This is a journey by train. Destination: Dhaka. The purpose of the journey is most noble and tedious. The purpose is to attend classes, to take exams. So this is not one of those pleasant journeys like the ‘A Journey by Train’ we memorized in childhood. Home is where the people closest to you live. In that sense, like many others, Dhaka is not my home; just a second home. Yet see the irony. When everyone leaves Dhaka on weekends, returning home, I am leaving home, going to Dhaka. At the end of the day’s weariness some birds return to their nests; some birds leave their nests, taking fatigue’s hand as it changes shifts, toward a grayed happiness. This is life!
Sometimes you have to be two
different people.
Instead of saying anything bad, keep
silent. Instead of arguing badly, unfriend him/her. Be nice or be away.
Walk only with people better than
you. If you cannot find any, walk alone.
~ Buddha
I’ve always tried to follow this teaching, but often life is not so easy as to
avoid the not-better, (if not worse,) ones.
Chance only favours the prepared
mind.
~ Louis Pasteur
Yes, not always miracles happen miraculously!
Just the other day I returned from wandering through Bandarban. My initiation into becoming wild was there. Three days of leave. I’m going again to the kingdom of clouds. This time to Khagrachari. There the hills befriend the sky. The gentle waterfall meets the flowing river in a centuries-old union. I too will become their friend. The holiday will pass well.
The taste of wilderness. Is a woman’s love even more enchanting than this?
Does it beguile to such a degree? Does it hold such intoxication?
What do I know!
Thought: Three hundred seventy-three
…………………………………………..
Not to die is more important than to
take adventures. It really feels great to cheat death! This is the lesson from
my Khagrachari tour. I’m coming back with a feeling of horror (much more
breathtaking than any god-damn horror movie), aesthetic beauty (of Nature, of
ethnic people, of culture), magical blend of wise hills, rocks, rhythmic
fountains, soothing flora, fauna, musical waters, mysterious cave….. And,
most obviously…. Acute pain over my whole body! Every learning has its
payment in its own way.
CUET, IBA, BCS. Three episodes of different flavors. The first episode remains the longest one till now. That’s why just the thought of going to CUET feels wonderful, a strange thrill awakens. And on top of that, convocation. November 29. I’ll meet friends, teachers, seniors, juniors—there’ll be nonstop conversations. Campus conversations while sitting at the university—compared to this, all other conversations in the world are childish. I’m a wayward man who left home. I couldn’t uphold the university’s name, only maintained its honor. Whatever respect I get is only because of this university. (The ‘engineer’ label isn’t entirely bad!) I spent four years there. (Well, I actually spent a bit more. Why? Let’s leave that for later.) I’m feeling the kind of joy that comes from ‘a son of the house returning home’! I’m waiting for that auspicious moment.
Going to CUET to collect the convocation gown. I’ll stay until evening. Will meet familiar faces from the past. Which of my friends are going today? We’ll have a great time chatting!
When you wander around the university campus after a long time, you become significantly younger. You feel like walking with arms and legs swinging freely, stealing glances at beautiful women, eating something every now and then whether you’re hungry or not, singing at the top of your voice. It feels like Hrithik-Shahrukh are nothing compared to me! There’s this ‘first year, damn care’ kind of attitude at work. I was at CUET campus for just a few hours today. Tomorrow I’ll be there all day. The alumni wearing black gowns will look like penguins. The bond between different batches of the university is truly something to cherish.
Riding in a government Land Cruiser to attend convocation to receive my certificate….. Feeling good….. feeling proud to be a civil servant…… feeling proud to be an alumnus of CUET.
….. enjoying a wonderful cultural
evening at CUET performed by the CUETians….. Dancing like a mad!… It’s so
gorgeous!… the show that only eyes can capture. A better camera? Sorry!….
the music that only ears can receive. A better recorder? Sorry!…. the rhythm
that only soul can imbibe. A better option? Sorry!….. The show is too good!
CUET people rock!!….. proud to be a CUETian!…. love you CUET!
The thing about rumination or looking back is that nostalgia will always be there. The success of any reunion lies precisely in preserving that unassuming clarity, like deodar leaves drenched in the sun’s last sweet rays, and holding onto the lingering threads of alumni bonds. Yesterday’s gathering satisfied the thirst for multidimensional equations between old and new faces at beloved CUET, through glimpses of everyday moments sketched in memory. That everything must follow the boundaries of logic—this notion itself is illogical. Love doesn’t run on logic; some relationships thumb their nose at reason and survive. One could live centuries on this feeling of joy alone! What else is there in life, really? How much does a person truly get in one lifetime? Yesterday I saw in the juniors’ eyes the resolve to build dreams; the bold vow to touch them with the audacity of a tangent. The selfless sincerity of the teachers and the relentless efforts of the students—in this exquisite rhythmic harmony, CUET is becoming unique day by day. Dear CUET, stay well. We are beside you, we will always be. Always.
The beauty that cannot be grasped, the beauty that won’t let itself be caught—
why does the heart chase after it? Why are mistakes more joyful?
Dear God, it’s not fair!
Looking for a bride for marriage?
Or looking for someone’s girlfriend/ex-girlfriend for your own wedding?
Is finding a needle in a haystack harder than this?
Anamul Haque! Hats off boss!!
Bangladesh win by 160 runs.
Please don’t reread. You’ve read it right! Yes, that’s it!!
Sorry West Indies. We couldn’t be a better host.
We love you, tigers! Hats off!!
(The wife cleverly bought 7 identical colored undergarments for her husband.)
Husband: Are you crazy?
Why did you bring the same color?
People will think
I don’t change my underwear.
Wife: (Getting angry, in a stern voice)
Which people??
(The poor husband fell completely silent. He couldn’t find anything to say in response.)
I merely gave a simple confession to Facebook’s
“What’s on your mind?” question. Everyone except me is responsible for the implications of this joke…
Married people’s state of mind: Let it go, mother,
let me cry and survive.
Unmarried people’s state of mind: Hold on, mother, let me laugh myself to death.
Statutory warning:
This status may not be universally applicable.
When we have hundreds of reasons
around to cry, you have given us one BIG reason to dance. Thank you, TIGERS!!
You roar, the world hears!! We love you.
Victory revisits!! Deserved & Earned!! Sweet December.
Well, blockade blocks your way, at
the same time it shows another way. Today’s blockade on Dhaka-Chittagong route
made me stay at Comilla for 7 hours. Who cares? I roamed the town and visited
some places…. a short surprise tour!…… You can never know where life
takes you.
We lost. Yet we conquered our past wretched performance, our mental lethargy. How is this any less? They played magnificently. There was not the slightest lack of effort. Bangladesh’s old stereotypical face has completely transformed. I am happy, so very happy. My mother’s face may not look that beautiful. Does that mean I can call some other smart woman ‘mother’? Never! Dear Bangladesh, forge ahead. We were by your side, we are, and we shall remain. Always.
CGPA 3.94 out of 4.00 scale!! What an inhumanly inhuman terrifyingly beautiful result!! Brother, are you even human? At CUET, this is probably the highest CGPA so far. Hats off!! Looking at my Honours CGPA, who would believe you’re my younger brother? (I have an ‘ordinary guy’ type result.) I shudder just thinking about it! I am overwhelmed, proud. BIG Congratulations to my dear younger brother Banaful Paul Sagar!! Here’s to many more beautiful moments.
Pandit Ravi Shankar. The magician of the sitar. Bengal’s Mozart. Bangladesh’s truest friend. I have spent many moments of delight and displeasure in his intimate presence. He taught the West that beyond “Eat, drink and be merry,” life exists — he gave the world’s celebration of joy an invitation through melody. My towering purposeless arrogance is perpetually shattered to dust in his vastness. This divine father of world music has today departed for the land of no return. His unique priceless gift to music, his legendary excellence, will live on forever.
Reflection: Three hundred seventy-four
…………………………………………..
People, they say, write poetry when they fall in love. And I used to write in order to fall in love. Perhaps that’s why I never became a poet.
The death of the poet?
Or of the lover?
The intelligent argue, the gifted move forward.
(This saying is borrowed. One of my most beloved thoughts.)
Boys remain wayward until marriage; and girls remain virtuous until marriage. This very contradiction draws them to each other. The thought just struck me suddenly. Is this true? Well, what’s the story after marriage?
December 16th. Victory. These two words carry more intoxication than clarity. If we preserve the joy of independence merely as a pleasant memory, it doesn’t take long for the essence of our present existence to fade. History bears witness to this truth. A man who is enchanted only by a woman’s beauty — how much does he truly seek to know her heart?
The indifference of performed love is bound to surrender before true devotion. One can save face by shouting “Bangladesh, I love you” at the top of one’s lungs, earning applause from some excitable Bengalis. But when all the blood in the body has drained away, what use is it to lament the spilled blood?
A wound that refuses to heal, that only grows larger — if we allow it to fester, it will end only with the death of the entire body. Therefore, we cannot let this wound grow any further; we will not allow it. Through the fierce rebellion of this blood oath, we shall free ourselves from shame. Welcome, ’71!
“I love you.” I was shocked to hear it. What is this girl saying! I thought. I looked at her picture on Facebook. Then I thought again. No!
I could love her, but only as my own sister. My little sister. Such a sweet relationship. Nothing to be done about it!
But my new sister refuses to accept me as her brother. If necessary, she’ll murder me. What torment!
My crazy sister! I seek your forgiveness. And your prayers too.
O Earth!
Be torn asunder. I’m climbing up a tree!!
If someone makes harsh or
humiliating comments about any of your weak points or apparent weak points,
don’t be upset. Just consider 2 things:
1. Maybe he/she has more weak points than you’ve but fortunately has not met
any person rude enough to behave in that way.
2. Not everyone can tolerate better qualities of better persons. Maybe you’ve
met such a person.
Get rid of that person. You don’t need everyone in your life. Just show what
more you can do. Success is the sweetest revenge.
How exactly should one live so that the thought never again arises — that some other life might have been different from this one?
How exactly must one breathe to spend a truly wonderful evening without regret?
……………………………………
I have examined, as far as possible, turning them over and around
— various pasts,
none of them quite pleasing in the right way…….
I am amazed,
after living for so long, I have altogether only five or six days’ worth of memories.
How exactly should I look into your eyes so that my inner voice will never say
— meeting you was one of life’s terrible mistakes…….. How exactly should one live for human life to become meaningful to humans,
tell me…….
(Jifran Khaled is one of those who would write beautifully if he wrote, but doesn’t write. The words above are borrowed from him. That there can be such joy even in borrowing — my proud mind occasionally accepts this helplessly.)
I was hurt by my beloved. I stormed out in anger. But I left her house thinking that now she would call out and stop me, that she would melt my resentment with sweet words. I imagined
my clothes were fluttering in the wind,
and she would catch the edge of those clothes and make me sit down. I walked so slowly that if she had called out, I could have heard and returned to her. But she is such a cruel beloved
that she never once called to me, never stopped me, never caught my clothes and pulled me back to sit with her. Disappointed, I kept walking slowly forward. And today I have come so far from her that the two of us are separated forever. She
did not call out,
I did not return,
our relationship came to an end!
—Kaifi Azmi
Ah, what tender beauty in this flowing emotion!
Unfortunately, most of the lovely
girls you have to like are the girls you don’t/can’t like to have. But why?
Because, ironically beauty stays where you think it shouldn’t. Any other
reasons?
You think I am sinful,
a criminal, because I have loved her so much. Ask her once, O woman! Why have you become so beautiful,
so lovely,
so enchanting?
Such beauty in one form—is this not a crime? Is the crime only the worshipper’s?
Not beauty’s?
~ Mir Taqi Mir
Mir, you’ve truly crystallized into nectar!
I’m going to Sylhet tonight to spend the weekend holiday. I’ll stay tomorrow and the day after. Tomorrow is Fakrul
bhai’s independence voluntary-surrender day. Through bhai’s eyes I’ll see the joy of becoming enslaved. (Oh, what joy in sky and air!) Along with that, I’ll lose myself in that landscape where the century-old duet of stillness and silence enchants,
inspires. Wandering is humanity’s most primal, authentic intoxication. Truly it is!
…… off to Sreemangal, the tea
capital of the country—surrounded by lush tea estates, lemon groves,
pineapple gradens—all forming a green carpet on the picturesque sloping
hills….. road running faster than my car….. travelling with the magical
voice of Kishor-Lata-Sanu-Alka imbibing through my heart from my car!……
just can’t wait to be lost in the oasis of tranquility!
The rich buy books, the intelligent read books,
the foolish let books be read. Experience tells us
the last part ends in the dative case. I, however, am one notch more brazen. My days pass merely in pretending to read books. As much as my personal library grew in volume in 2012,
my indifference to reading grew that much more. I listened to less music, watched even fewer movies. Wandering about
quenched the thirst of these two deficits. The rumination over what was gained and the accounting of what was lost
— thoughts spiral in the interaction between these two. This year I gave myself considerable time. I was quite content with this self of mine. Displeasure often fell flat on its face before pleasure. My year begins with buying books, passes looking at books,
ends by shouldering the (failed)
resolve to read the purchased books onto the next year. I buy delight with money,
sell it with regret. And between these two, my years get stolen away. Love on one shore, hatred on the other. A bridge in between. The bridge is never crossed. Yet walking on that bridge, gazing down at the flowing river below, I say, “All is well with me!” Welcome, 2013!
This thirty-first I’ll celebrate in the hills. With hill friends. Conversations, barbecue, songs. Revelry. Heading there this evening. What are your plans?
Sweetest is the sleep at the night
before the exam. All movies are good movies in that evening. Weakest is the
promise to wake up early in the morning on the exam day.
We often fail to differentiate
between people who like our facebook pictures and people who like us. Not all
who like our pictures like us. Liking pictures has become just a facebook
courtesy. How we look through the lens of the eyes counts, not through the lens
of a camera.
Others may well have their opinions;
by that measure, every year various views accumulate for and against me. I only value those opinions necessary for me, those that encourage me. Many critics prefer to sit before their televisions and offer commentary. These critics don’t know
what was working in my mind on the playing field, what condition my body was in. This is why I prefer to stay away from them.
~ Sachin Tendulkar
(I found this deeply moving. Not everyone achieves, some do. The rest stay busy with two tasks: arguing and belittling. The intelligent offer reasoning and argue; the wise move forward.)
Thought: Three Hundred Seventy-Five
…………………………………………..
To expect that someone who has never been honored in any matter will not try to dishonor you in that same matter—such expectation is foolishness itself. The student who doesn’t come first in class (cannot come first) feels as much reverence for the first boy or girl as he does envy. One who has no claim to achievement has full claim to jealousy. This right is God-given. It is through the silent expression of resentment against His reasoned or unreasoned favoritism that civilization moves toward peaceful coexistence. And we move along with it.
…… enjoying a sunny winter
morning at Baromasia Tea Estate, Fatickchari on a picnic from Bodhon Abritti
School…… Life full of life!….. being lost to be discovered!
The tragedy about beautiful girls with
brain: Either beauty spoils their brain or brain spoils their beauty… Some
exceptions exist, however. But the irony is, they’re engaged or married!
A foolish and irritating friend, even if simple and sincere, is difficult and embarrassing to be around. You might have to pay a heavy price even for a fool’s innocence. Walking alone is far better than walking with a fool.
Let flowers bloom or not bloom, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day…… Hurray!!
What does the crow care if the bel fruit ripens?…… How stupid!!
(Soliloquy on Love’s Day)
Groups of garment girls are streaming out of the EPZ. Some have roses, gladioli, tuberoses in their hands, in their hair. From their eternally tired eyes, light seems to sparkle. Beautiful, joyful faces. Exquisite! Tell me, does love make people beautiful? Many of the boys too have handsome Valentine’s cards in their hands.
Good thing my hands aren’t empty either. I have today’s paper. Prothom Alo.
Yesterday’s three-and-a-half-hour whirlwind expedition—books purchased at the Ekushey Book Fair:
1. Python — Haripada Dutta
2. The Life Sought — Abu Jafar
3. Another Inquiry — Shamsuddin Chowdhury
4. The Incredible Diamond Kohinoor — Iradj Amini
5. Abu Ishaq’s Complete Novels
6. Another Perspective — Rashid Karim
7. Conversations — Raju Alauddin
8. Inheritor — Shawkat Ali
9. Oral Tradition — Shahaduzzaman
10. Equality in Fiction — Haripada Dutta
11. The Colonel on Crutches — Shahaduzzaman
12. Letters of Kazi Abdul Odud
13. Voyager of Light in the Dark Ocean of Time — Abul Momen
14. Birth after Birth of Racial Memory — Haripada Dutta
15. Fragments of Thought — Shahaduzzaman
16. Torn Letters of Two Artists — Ahmed Khaled
17. The Crusades: The Flame of Islam — Harold Lamb
18. The Wall — Humayun Ahmed (Standing before the ‘Anya Prakash’ stall, I was overwhelmed witnessing the helpless condition of the living under the effortless, astonishing dominion of one great dead man! Some dead are not beyond envy.)
19. Aesthetics — Yuri Borev
20. Safe Slumber — Mahmudul Haq
21. A Handkerchief Every Day — Mahmudul Haq
22. Poems of Paul Celan
23. Underground City — Mahmudul Haq
24. Franz Kafka: Complete Stories
25. Folklore — Edited by Dr. Anowarul Karim
26. Collected Speeches (2 volumes) — Abdullah Abu Sayeed
27. Sayings and Proverbs — Muhammad Habibur Rahman
28. Life Consciousness in Bangladeshi Novels — Farida Sultana
29. I Have Seen the Face of Bengal — Shankar Sengupta
30. Bioscope, Cinema et cetera — Shahaduzzaman
31. Farewell Gulsary — Chingiz Aitmatov
32. The Universal Prophet — Golam Mostafa
33. Scattered Journal — Abdullah Abu Sayeed
34. The Boat of Love — Abdullah Abu Sayeed
35. Manto’s Best Stories
36. Mirza Ghalib — Gulzar
37. Refugee — Haripada Dutta
38. Delightful Writings (2 volumes) — Edited by Abdush Shakur
39. Rashid Karim’s Complete Essays
40. Folk Superstitions and Miscellaneous Topics — Momen Chowdhury
41. Before Socrates — Ahmed Khaled
I buy books selectively, read them even more selectively. Enthusiasm abundant, laziness immeasurable. I spend my days touching books with the flimsy promise that someday I’ll read them all, flipping through a page or two, inhaling their scent. (Thick books make me feel tired. I often want to tear out a hundred pages from the middle to lighten them up a bit.)
Friends, please recommend two or three more books that aren’t on this list but should have been. (Three and a half hours is far too little time for choosing books carefully at the book fair.)
There was a time when I had no desire whatsoever to complete my honors degree. I had no argument before me for why I should complete my honors. I remember deliberately postponing my final project for the last semester for months. Intentionally. My project supervisor, Saki Kauser sir, was an extremely hard-hearted, nitpicking man. He paid me no attention, and I paid him none either. However much he led me around in circles, I led him around even more. I was quite content with myself, in my own way. Instead of wasting time sleeping, I would dream during my waking hours. Yes, that’s how I am. Nothing to be done about it!
Where life takes us—we never really know.
Seeing Mozart’s financial distress, Emperor Joseph of Italy was moved to compassion and once remarked, “Why didn’t you marry a rich man’s daughter?”
The confident great composer replied, “Your Majesty,
I firmly believe that with my talent, I shall be able to provide for the woman I love.”
Yes, he succeeded. He could not give his wife luxury, but he gave her happiness,
he gave her peace. The same was true for the composer Bach. The world’s greatest treasures cannot be bought with money.
Going on a trip. Not alone,
she’s coming along. Weekend’s over! As easily as it’s said, fatigue doesn’t lift so easily. The body wants to sleep a little. Only the body wants to. The mind doesn’t. The mind’s power and powerlessness are both
infinite. The mind understands me. She understands the mind. Not only understands,
but makes understood too. Understands,
explains. And I understand. She, I,
the mind. This forms our triangular household. Very old. Therefore trustworthy. This household is as old as my consciousness. Though my consciousness is younger in age than my years. Ah, how free I am!
Is this that freedom
which draws man toward the chains of bondage?
Under whose compulsion people love to become enslaved so much?
Going to Cox’s Bazar. Not seeking peace,
but relief. I’ve climbed too high—thinking this wrongly, how far down I’m descending, seeking easy delusion of escape from this daily dense-woven discomfort of awakening.
The boy sits where
the sea is to his right,
hills to his left. Coffee mug in hand. Leaving the arrogant hills behind him, he’s lost himself in wonderment at the sea’s vastness. In another world within the world. Even the spicy flavor of crab and lobster from Mermaid Café can’t disturb him in the slightest. Forgetting everything, he’s quite content. An intimate, private conversation with himself. He’s busy translating the chaotic ocean breeze into stillness from afar. Silence has the day off today.
He’s giving himself time in his own way. He is me.
Jobs are strange things. When you can help someone here,
they’ll praise you to their wife-son-daughter-relatives-kin. And if you can’t, they’ll tell your boss all sorts of things about you. Here, for doing the right work, you might get future rewards from Allah. But if you make mistakes, you’ll get immediate punishment from your boss.
Thought: Three hundred seventy-six
…………………………………………..
A girl believes most in what she’s thinking,
that very thought. Whether the thought has truth in it or not,
once she’s thought it, there’s no escape. It will become true and emerge from within her to stand before her. You won’t be able to move her an inch. Girls are truly far too childish. There are at least a hundred techniques for making them lose, none of which work. So making them win is the art. The peaceful practice of this is masculinity.
What do my married, almost-married, and half-married friends say about this?
Don’t wrestle with a pig. It wants you to come down to its level, to get dirty. It has nothing to lose. The moment you get dirty, it wins. When you sink low, it rises in status. Because then you become its equal, its kind. So either push it away, or move yourself to a safe distance. (Facebook’s unfriend/block button sometimes comes in very handy. I just like it sometimes!)
I think I read something similar to this in one of Shiv Khera’s books. I can’t always follow these hard truths. Still, sometimes I think an empty stable is far better than a wicked pig.
Tomorrow ‘Prothom Alo’ will publish an article of mine about BCS interviews. In the ‘About Dreams’ section. The joy of writing for this section is that you can write about dreams. I’ve written there twice before. It feels good. You can tell everyone that dreaming isn’t wrong. But after dreaming, you mustn’t read anything like dream interpretation guides. It diminishes both the power and lifespan of dreams. Dreams don’t have to make complete sense. Let dreams remain dreamlike. Dreams coming true is what matters.
The problem lies elsewhere. Every time, my dream-telling style gets editorial surgery. The boy who topped the BCS must speak with a serious face, serious types of words. He won’t give why-so-serious type advice. That’s forbidden. He’ll speak hard truths harshly, not gently. He’ll carry a cane in his hand, not a rose. Seeing these typical first-rankers makes me nauseous. The agony of not being able to speak in your own voice is immense. Writing is like a child. Even if your child is lame, it looks beautiful to you.
I’m also waiting to see what state the poor thing is in after the merciless stabs of the editorial pen. You’re all invited to read and see for yourselves.
I hadn’t read ‘Noukadubi’ before. Watched it today. I was quite fine without seeing it. I’ve been searching for Hem for ages now. Awake and asleep. Living on, believing I’ll be with her. I merge into Hem-Margaret-Shabnam-Banalata. Sometimes I catch glimpses of you. Dream-maidens dwell in celluloid reels. In book pages. Or in others’ homes.
(Alas! Most of the time, in the wrong homes.)
I was spending these days traveling at home and abroad. How happily I was riding on the shoulders of Sunil-Humayun-Annadashankar-Mujtaba with mustard seeds under my feet! In the midst of all this, the devastating Rabindranath. You old rascal, you know everything, understand too much!
Ah! If only I could make them forget like you do! They don’t come to our homes because they won’t leave your house.
(Even if they came, I wouldn’t take them.) Your first-hand girlfriend becomes our second-hand beloved. Alas!
Can this ever be?
O Providence!
Why did you give the poet false rights to that which is beyond even your domain?
When I become a lover,
my first sensation is that I am not insignificant. I begin lying about myself with remarkable skill and persistence, whether I have knowledge or not,
trying to make it all convincing, ridiculously flaunting my smartness. Though a crow, I dance like a peacock. To ourselves, we are all Hrithik Roshan. Why should the beloved be any different? Even if she belongs to someone else. It’s merely love,
not true devotion after all. Women have two ingrained traits. Being confused. Being impressed. They just are. Sometimes with reason,
often without.
In heaven, Marilyn Monroe sits on Vidyasagar’s lap,
the two of them embracing tenderly. Passing by and seeing this, Haraprasad Shastri averted his eyes in embarrassment. Vidyasagar called out to him, “Why are you feeling shy? Come here.” Haraprasad Shastri stammered, glancing sideways at the naked Marilyn Monroe, and said,
“Gurudev, you have done so much for the nation,
such austerities and sacrifices—surely such a beautiful woman is your rightful reward here!”
Vidyasagar pinched Haraprasad’s belly with two fingers and said, “Fool,
are you still so ignorant?
Don’t you understand—
is this my reward for virtue,
or this girl’s punishment for sin!”
This feeling of having unknowingly committed some grave sin
returns again and again. Sometimes that guilt becomes so intense that I think,
why am I still alive? If I just died, wouldn’t all troubles end? That thought of death is so alluring,
like the beckoning of an infinite mystery. I wander the streets like a madman thinking it would be best to vanish silently from this world. This is the only decision that would be entirely my own. Does this vanishing mean suicide?
– Sunil Gangopadhyay
I was overwhelmed reading this. Do all people think this way? Do all humans, more or less, harbor the same thoughts?
I have spent so many dark days with this very contemplation. Thoughts of death are wonderful!
This death itself once saved me. Who has ever found their path without first losing it?
A bidi is like a sulking lover—you must kiss it frequently; delay the kiss and it turns its face black.
– Shakti Chattopadhyay
An incomparable, self-serving comparison. Bastard, just as I’m annoyed when you force me to share your kiss with the bidi, wouldn’t I be equally annoyed if you forced me to share your kiss with your lover when kissing her?
To mend a sulking lover’s mood, wouldn’t I have made that sacrifice in that case too,
isn’t that right?
Seeing all these crushes and confessions has scrambled my brain! Makes me want to get into BUET again!
Happy New Year 1420.
All my mistakes from the old year, all our misunderstandings or right understandings
(when the mistakes were mine alone,
as they often are) — forgetting everything, please take the trouble to stay with me for one more year.
But I can’t promise I won’t make any more mistakes this year. How would I survive without making mistakes!
What’s there to fear,
there’s always next year. And Facebook is always there!
I’ll ask for forgiveness again. No big deal!
April 20
She’s already a woman, and on top of that, a doctor. Living with her moods would be impossible!
If you marry a female doctor, she’ll turn your life into kerosene and set it on fire. Better for doctors to marry doctors.
How true is this?
I was saved because success came to me at a young age. That means for the rest of my life, I can truly do what I want to do. Wasting your entire life just for success is terrible.—
John Lennon
I loved this thought. He remained what he was, right to the end. He didn’t become something else. This is perhaps what talent is. Simply knowing who I am. I will remain that
and remain it in the best way possible, so much so that if others want something different from me than what I am, thinking about that never brings regret. Let them understand too that they had misunderstood. Everything isn’t for everyone.
There are three kinds of fortunate men in the world.
Rich man’s son
Rich man
Rich man’s only son-in-law
What is a good job?
The job that gives you (most importantly) 2 things:
~ Money & Status you need
~ Time to enjoy that money & status in your own way
Most of the jobs lack the 2nd part. We lose our present happy moments hoping
for future happier moments staying unhappy (seemingly) forever.
What do bankers and customs officers have in common? The irony of their work patterns.
They can only be happy guarding and watching other people’s beautiful wives/girlfriends.
Thought: Three hundred seventy-seven
…………………………………………..
Among our batchmates, I was probably the first to venture into traditional business. But the road less travelled is never easy to walk. Educated entrepreneurs need the courage to abandon seemingly secure, well-paying jobs and remain on that untrodden path until success shows its first glimmer. It’s not simple. I am now a derailed engineer. I began with my coaching centre, later entered the stock market with calculated risks (God bless all investors, myself included! Your friend claims money means nothing? Fine—ask him to invest in shares). This succession of attempts culminated in establishing my gift business under the brand DOVANA. I owned two shops and had always dreamed of becoming a business magnate, extending my domain to other sister concerns—until my dreams transformed with new impulses. (I’m fortunate never to have regretted these new directions.) Yes, I was planning to abandon my brainchild. To succeed, you must start young. Even more crucial—if you’re going to fail at something, fail young. Failing successfully is an art. I now realize that sometimes failures are beneficial, even life-saving. I consistently found myself in positions that felt deeply uncomfortable. Watching friends who had already travelled far ahead left me feeling helpless. Gradually, they were becoming leading professionals in their fields. If you haven’t grown accustomed to being considered ‘Nobody’ since childhood, it’s difficult to see yourself as ‘Nobody’ even briefly. I felt strongly that merely walking or running to catch up wasn’t enough—I needed to take a flying leap! I was struggling to win, but fighting with small people constantly gave me a hollow sense of inferiority. I was alone on my own island, feeling disengaged……. Even winning against small people leaves you feeling you’re one of them, merely mediocre talent. Business success is an extremely selfish game. Perhaps you think, ‘I’m already quite selfish,’ but to win more than others, you’d need to be more selfish than you truly are……… I constantly spoke with my engineering batchmates (I’m from the ’02 batch) and insisted we should start a software business. I found few genuinely serious in words, fewer still in action. The simplest way to begin anything is simply to begin. Everyone around me wanted to embark on a thousand-mile journey; no one was willing to take the first step. I understand—taking risks isn’t always easy, especially when you’ve grown up surrounded by millions of NO’s.
How easy it is to say NO to an attempt! Life doesn’t always sound so simple that you can remain indifferent to all opportunity costs and stay connected to your dream when it lies elsewhere, contrary to common expectation. You begin to feel that perhaps you’re destined to be just a nobody for whom nothing waits. It’s horrible to be just a NOBODY to others. All the while you’re thinking, planning, hoping about your dream, and simultaneously wondering what would happen if you found yourself in the wrong place when it’s too late. (One thing I can tell you: It’s never too late to realize it’s already getting late.) Life didn’t come to us with a user manual. So it’s our right to use it and abuse it! I can tell you for certain that playing with life is a wonderful game, but you must carefully ensure that it remains wonderful at the end of the day. Winners stand alone only because so few can truly win. Living unremembered, unrecognized—this, I can say, gives you the worst feeling. Life isn’t always smooth enough to remain complacent with the ‘I think, therefore I am’ principle; life makes you feel the urge to start believing that identity is more important than existence. Others think, therefore I am. Now I believe that deciding what you really want matters. It took me nearly two decades to decide what I really wanted. When I finally decided, it took me only a few months to get what I really wanted. Whatever you do—job, business, or anything else—you must work not only hard but also smartly to become successful enough to smile and not be embarrassed seeing others smile at your previous ‘sweet failures.’ Failures are never meant to be sweet. It’s your success that makes them sweet. Sometimes your best role model is only YOU in a better state you could be. Success isn’t always about becoming someone else you dream of being, but rather becoming a new YOU better than the previous YOU, or not degrading your better YOU if you already are. Hardly are things not worth challenging worth getting. Success is all about earning, not deserving. The easiest way to make people admit you deserve something is simply to earn it. The fact is: your success is what you think you earn; your failure is what others think you deserve.
Success. It’s simply living without sighs. It’s dancing the way you want and making people think you dance well even if you don’t. It’s making your style others’ favorite brand even if it’s foolish. It’s sometimes making people laugh listening to even your worst jokes. It’s making others hear you even when you don’t speak. It’s taking the opportunity to tell others that encountering your previous millionth failure was essential anyway. It’s making your failures worth mentioning—by you or by others.
Success is just what it is, not the opposite of failure as often popularly told and wrongly believed. Throughout my life I’ve followed a simple technique. I always have the highest respect for any peak I’m trying to reach and I make the successful persons my heroes. It gives me a great drive! Really! Even a child wants to become the hero he dreams of. It’s easy to work for something when you really admire, in any job, in any business. Your business is like your child. You cannot expect your child to be a complete man overnight. Similarly, you cannot expect your business boom before you become used to the bitter reactions from the people around you. People have a natural talent of undermining your attempts to which they are not familiar with or don’t feel comfortable about. There are some people who can never appreciate. So, it’s foolish to judge yourself by what they say. Kind words are healthier than chicken soup. Have a bowl of healthy soup—-served (if you’re lucky enough) or self-served (if you want to make your own luck). Get busy living. I’ve always found this: learnt free, lost paid. So, invest before you earn. Get inspirations from people who never stop before they cross the miles to go before they sleep. Quitters are never winners. Que sera, sera—Whatever will be, will be. Things are that they’re, things will be that they’ll be. If you quit, only you quit. Some won’t quit and will reach the peak. The easiest way to finish something is to start it. Once you start, you’re surely on the way to the end. If you finish before it finishes, you must search for another way. Not always a new way is better rather sometimes it brings newer pains. If you still don’t know what to do, ask your heart. Do what you love, love what you do. Your heart strangely somehow knows better than you. Never ask a blind man to help you cross the road because he is also trying or has failed to cross it. If you can’t see ask someone who has already seen. Better to live 1 minute with a wise man than to stay 1 hundred years with an idiot. First decide, deserve and then desire. These 3 D’s can give you what you and others want from your life. Not always life is easy, but it’s still worth-living. Tough time doesn’t last long for the tough men. Be that tough. Don’t tell the world what you can do, let the world tell it for you. Your actions speak much louder than your words. Don’t challenge others, challenge yourself because at the end of the day what all you’re left with, is only yourself. It’s never too late, rather being late is good as you’ve already paid the price for mistakes that others haven’t yet. Know what to do, learn how to do it and JUST DO IT!
Be that tough guy for whom time waits as he has refused to shape his life with time, by time, for time. Remember, only your results are rewarded, not your efforts. This is the way the world accepts or rejects you. Good luck!
Thought: Three Hundred Seventy-Eight
…………………………………………..
To those of you who did well on your SSC exams,
I offer my congratulations.
I have a small request for those close to the successful ones. Please be mindful that in the days ahead, whatever achievements come their way should not in any way undermine this accomplishment. Many cannot handle the burden of success at a young age. I think I read in one of Sunil’s interviews that complacency is equivalent to death.
To those who couldn’t achieve the level of success you had hoped for, let me say this: there’s a significant apparent advantage to ending up on the list of the less successful at a young age. It’s that the successful ones will consider you an easy target. This very comfort in the successful ones’ thinking gradually weakens them. Use this to your advantage. Don’t remain a nobody in this world. Whatever anyone may say, this much is certain: for nobodies, this world reserves nothing but nothing.
Good luck!
Once again I learned…….
that being alive itself is joy.
I learned that some become immortal in another way…….
not by dying, but simply by staying alive.
Reshma, let everyone learn from seeing you
that joking with death is what life is! How wonderfully beautiful is this being alive of ours!
Sister, I salute you.
Dear girls with beauty
Please take at least a little care of your brain (if any at all) in the same
way as God is taking care of your beauty.
Dear girls with brain
Please take at least a little care of your beauty (if any at all) as God is
busy taking care of your brain.
Don’t blame God. Rather look for a solution, at least for others’ comfort.
Best wishes & Regards
Thank you Maa for what you are.
Thank you Maa for what you are not.
Thank you Maa for what I am. Thank you Maa for what I am not.
I am because you were & are. I am sorry as I have always taken all your
favours for granted and have hardly been grateful enough to thank you. I am
sorry as I am hardly careful enough to ask, “Hello Maa! How are you
today?” We are pathetically preserving all our Thank You’s to say them
when it is too late. Always, it is high time to say, Thank You. NOW, NOT LATER!
The greatest mistake we do is, we think, we have time.
Thank you God & Nature for creating this masterpiece.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Just a moment ago, the person I saw emerging from the men’s restroom didn’t quite seem like a man to me. Curious, I went closer and discovered that it was indeed the right person coming out of the right place (perhaps) having done the right thing, but in the wrong form. A long-haired young man. Ah! Those silky, sweet tresses of his would stir storms in any woman’s heart. Storms of envy.
The great advantage I’ve found working at this airport is this: all the delights of every zoo in the world can be had here in one place. Along with some bonuses. The bonus of being amazed without reason. These creatures are far too unpredictable. Ever since getting posted here, my confidence accumulated over years of being a creature myself diminishes daily. Little by little. Many of the people returning home consider us too much their own and address us with informal ‘you.’ Public that insists on forced familiarity usually isn’t very convenient. I’ve always objected to strangers being informal from first acquaintance. In certain tasks, a gentleman’s attitude makes the work much easier. Later I realized they really don’t mean anything while doing so. Chattagram people move in reverse when it comes to the usual progression from formal to informal address. With utmost sincerity, in incomprehensible regional tones, abusive words or word-abuse somehow lose their very tune. They’re quite emotional too.
Actually, calling them ‘they’ and ‘them’ isn’t quite right. I myself am a member of their tribe, a stray from the pack.
(I’m happy that people from Noakhali and Sylhet mercifully don’t land much at Chittagong Airport.) They say, why should one sneak into the country like a thief after liberating it with so much blood? What’s this checking-fecking business?
Everyone likes to rape the country for their own interests. And they do. It’s quite risk-free. If done skillfully with emotion mixed in, there’s not only no punishment but extra rewards might also be obtained.
That disheveled-haired (ahem, long-haired) ‘lovely man’ I had rushed toward from behind in confused attraction—the fault lies with my perfectly bachelor heart and the poets. At least a poem or two should be written about men’s thick, long hair. (Jibanananda, please come back again, we need you. The age of Bonolata is over. Forest men have arrived. We need their poetry too.) Would the lady poets consider this matter a bit?
Thinking of the poets’ convenience, ‘lovely men’ could be a little more generous regarding hair length. The time has come to bring the word ‘long’ under the purview of gender equity.
The mark of penury I see in ‘handsome women’s’ dress—why don’t I see that mark completely in their hair too? If you kept your hair just a little shorter, you could be easily distinguished from ‘lovely men.’
The capacity to love or hate intensely seems to have diminished as age has increased. Yet I still like women. I like them even more if they’re beautiful. I like everything about them. Whether it’s stern angry glances or sweet smiles. Ev-ery-thing… How perfunctorily men have been created! They exist just to look at women’s antics and say ‘Wow! How smart!’ I say it too. I very much want to say it face to face. I want to even more when turning the ‘Naksha’ page of Tuesday’s ‘Prothom Alo.’ I’ve been searching for ages for where my head of shame and modesty has gone. Once I find it, I’ll truly grab it and devour it. Ishhhh…
Albert Hall. A vast public gathering. Acharya Prafulla Chandra presides over the assembly. S. Wajed Ali reads the address of honour. Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose delivers a speech in ecstatic tribute to the literary genius of the person being felicitated. The one around whom all this revolves is only thirty years old. He is Nazrul. Has anyone else worn this crown of honour on their brow at such a tender age?
In ‘Rajbandir Jabanbandi’ (The Prisoner’s Testimony), Nazrul declared:
“I am accused of sedition against the Crown. Therefore I am imprisoned in the royal jail and charged at the royal court… I am a poet, sent by God to reveal hidden truths, to give form to the formless creation. God responds through the poet’s voice; my words are the revelation of truth, the word of God. That word may be seditious in the royal court, but in the court of justice, that word is not treasonous against justice, not treasonous against truth. The revelation of truth shall not be suppressed. My Dhumketu will now become a firebrand in God’s hand and burn down injustice and oppression…”
In roughly twenty-two years of literary life, he wrote most of his famous works in the first ten years alone. To this unfortunate, fate-afflicted, quarrelsome, weak-spirited nation, no one before him had ever spoken with such thrilling passion: “Speak, hero, forever hold high my head.”
Through mysterious turns of multifarious talent, this inexplicable literary prodigy is our beloved Nazrul.
“Nazrul is one of those rare extraordinary individuals who cannot be recognized by any single fixed appearance.” (—Premendra Mitra)
On the 114th birth anniversary of this non-communal poet of ‘liberated life-joy,’ let me speak in the blessed words of Rabindranath:
“To the venerable Kazi Nazrul Islam, Come, come forth, O Comet.
Build a bridge of fire in the darkness, on this fortress-peak of dark days, unfurl your banner of victory.”