Thought: Six Hundred Forty-Five
………………………………………………………
Brother, studying never felt good to me;
and I reaped its consequences right away. I got a golden A+ in matriculation. I enrolled at Chittagong College. Everyone knew me as a good student. In intermediate, I pretty much abandoned my studies. I would go to teachers’ homes and come back, wouldn’t study anything, would loiter around streets and alleys, would return home after 10 PM. I wouldn’t listen to my parents,
would argue instead, would create chaos at home. I thought
that was life. Brother, nobody fails from Chittagong College,
failing intermediate is truly difficult. And that’s exactly what I did. I studied science, couldn’t do anything,
what could I write by making things up, I submitted blank answer sheets, brother. I truly recognized myself for the first time. I saw that everyone kept their distance, nobody gave me the time of day. Only my parents wouldn’t say anything harsh, they would just cry, just cry. Yet
I used to think everyone else was my own, while my parents seemed like enemies. I felt like crying so much, brother,
but was also ashamed to cry. Sometimes I thought,
let me die. But then I thought if I died, my parents would cry even more,
and that thought hurt too. Then again, I wondered what would happen if I died, what wouldn’t happen,
I would think about these things,
and feel afraid too. I was like a madman for several months. Then my parents explained to me that failing once doesn’t mean anything. If I studied well, I could do much better next time, my whole life lay ahead,
if I tried I could go far,
and so on and so forth. Brother, doesn’t that sound funny? But you know, at that time nobody would say anything good to me,
so hearing something slightly positive would make my heart swell,
I would think,
I can do it too!
I took the exam again the next time,
did very poorly,
but passed. Brother,
you know, during the exam the teachers would come and stand before me saying,
just strike through this whole page,
you’ve made the entire page wet. I felt terrible, even cried during exams,
the pages would get wet with my tears. I had never failed an exam before, always came first or second as a child. And here I was! Anyway, with my poor results, forget about getting admission somewhere good,
I couldn’t even take entrance exams. Father said
he would arrange for private medical studies. Father didn’t have that much money,
he was thinking of taking a loan. Suddenly I felt that I had caused my parents enough suffering, no more. I more or less forcefully enrolled in a degree pass course at commerce college, so at least father wouldn’t have to beg anyone for my sake. Relatives, old friends, neighborhood people—nobody counted me as anything,
nobody,
nobody at all!
Nobody respects students of National University, brother. I too once didn’t,
and that’s where I had to study. What irony, isn’t it, brother?
I was very angry with myself. Brother,
being known as a good student from childhood is a wretched thing,
you can never think of yourself as small again. Earlier everyone would say good things,
now they wouldn’t say anything. How angry I would get at everyone! I thought nobody could stand me,
everyone was my enemy. When nobody loves you well, it hurts deeply,
brother; it just keeps hurting. I wouldn’t talk much with anyone, if someone said something,
I would feel hurt,
would suppress the hurt, but wouldn’t say anything back. I thought,
they’re bound to say it,
all the fault is mine. Brother,
I’ve been extremely stubborn since childhood, even if I didn’t say anything, the stubbornness was certainly there.
You know, a degree is a 3-year course; I started preparing for IBA from the middle of my third year. I kept thinking that everyone who studies at IBA is considered a good student, so if I could get admitted there, maybe I could compensate a little for my failures. I prepared very thoroughly. For the first time in my life, I could decide what I really wanted. Brother, one thing you said is very dear to me. In your Facebook About Me, you wrote: “It took me almost 2 decades to decide what I really want. When I’d decided finally, it took me only 1 year to get what I really want.” You don’t know this, but I’ve memorized many of your words, brother. Anyway, before my final results came out, I took the IBA exam and got through. Now everyone thinks that my failure was just an accident, that I’m actually a boy with a lot of caliber. Yet these same people used to say, “He’s bound to fail, who else would fail? Wandering around all day, no studying, mixing with worthless boys,” and so much more. Brother, believe me, not everything they said was true. But since I had failed, I had nothing to say to them. It hurt even more when I saw them saying these things to my parents too. Now I think about how much pain I caused my parents! Now no one says anything to my parents anymore. This is the biggest thing for me—studying at IBA is just an excuse. Brother, I believe that if someone sincerely asks Allah for something halal, and works properly to achieve it, Allah never disappoints them. Brother, I feel embarrassed telling you these things, but somehow I felt I should. I know some things about you—you too have risen from very bad circumstances to your current position. You wrote, “Being a nobody in this world isn’t pleasant. Whatever anyone may say, this much is certain: for nobodies, only nothing is allocated in this world. We can never imagine where life takes us.” This is very true, brother. I’ve rambled on too much, please don’t mind. You can’t take BCS exams with just a degree; if it were possible, I would have tried. I’ll take the BCS exam after finishing my master’s—please help me a little, brother.
Thought: Six Hundred Forty-Six
………………………………………………………
In my student life, I would squeeze time out from my public studies to tutor, while I would study whenever I found time alongside my tutoring. I had my own coaching center—Pals Coaching Home. I taught from class nine all the way to honors. From morning until night. I hardly attended classes at CUET. I loved teaching with an impossible passion. I tried to give the maximum of what I knew. I was extraordinarily dedicated to teaching. The amount of effort I put into creating difficult notes and lecture sheets for students—even now I’m amazed when I think about it. Every Friday morning I taught Bengali literature, and in the afternoon I held classes for IBA BBA admission exam preparation. I would prepare top-level grammatical exercises and vocabulary sheets and have students solve them. For intermediate students, I would solve at least 3-4 science books so they could get into engineering and medical colleges.
(I was very professional, but none of my students could say I ever taught commercially.)
It felt then as if so many enchanted eyes were gazing at me in class, my students were achieving such excellent results, studying at the country’s top institutions—
this was the most joyful thing in the world. Life could be spent in this happiness alone. Life was here!
2002-2011. A long time. Much could be written about it.
(Perhaps someday when I have time, I’ll write it all down,
we’ll see.) I regret now how I wasted those golden years of youth in reading and teaching. That a normal person could work so hard purely for joy—
even now it’s hard to believe when the thought crosses my mind. I taught students after studying extensively myself. I must have read their syllabus books at least hundreds of times. The way I taught to strengthen their basics was nothing short of torture for them. (I would scold them harshly if they didn’t study properly,
beat them with a cane.) I taught all subjects myself. Only for intermediate biology and commerce subjects were there two other teachers. I don’t know if there’s any other record of establishing a complete coaching center through solo effort. The boundless life force I had then—I can’t even imagine it now. I would challenge myself, saying
that what I taught should be impossible to teach any better. I know this thought was pure madness. But at that time I believed
I delivered the best teaching in the world. In those days I could work like a demon. (My income was more than any boy my age. I was so busy there wasn’t even time to go astray. Our family was quite well-off. Still, I did all this for joy. I taught many students for free—most of them were poor, some were those who would cheat me out of money.)
I don’t know how much you can grasp my madness about teaching. I know
it’s even a bit difficult to imagine. I wasn’t the least bit conscious of my caliber or career or anything else. I’ve always been among those who do what they love. I found all the happiness in the world together in teaching. That same me moved away from there. How? Through a few incidents. I’m sharing two of them.
Every year, many of my students would call to tell me they had gotten into prestigious institutions. Their parents’ joy was matched entirely by my own. One of my favorite students had gotten into BUET’s Electrical Engineering program. I was very fond of him for his humble manner. He didn’t tell me about getting in. When I found out much later and called to congratulate him, I asked, “I’m incredibly happy to learn you got into BUET. I bless you to go far. Brother, why didn’t you share this joyful news with me?” His response was: “Sir, I was very busy, so it slipped my mind. You should have called to ask me whether I got in or not. When we get into good places, it benefits you — it’s your coaching center’s reputation. You’ll get even more students next time.” I felt as if someone had delivered a tremendous slap across my face. Tears began streaming down my cheeks. I said nothing to him that day, but inwardly, my resolve hardened.
Let me share another matter. My students’ guardians would say among themselves that Sushanta Sir was running a coaching center only because he couldn’t do anything else. He’d probably drop out of engineering too. He’ll spend his whole life just teaching students. If he could do something worthwhile, he wouldn’t be teaching students. Some behaved as if: we’re paying money, so the sir is obliged to teach. (I sometimes think now: many of today’s double golden A-plus students can’t even make the waiting list for entrance exams to institutions where I came second. Alas! Yet they too are arrogant!)
Most of what I’ve achieved in life has come through receiving tremendous blows. At one point, I began to think: what does tutoring actually give us? One: raw money. Two: if you’re very fortunate, respect and gratitude. Three: as a side effect of students’ good results, your own poor results. Four: foolish self-satisfaction. Nothing more. I don’t know if any of you have taught even one percent of the students I’ve taught in my lifetime. Before starting my own coaching center, I taught at 10-12 coaching centers, including admission coaching. I know very well how others view tutoring during student life, what people think about it. I never took money from that beloved student of mine. He had no father, so I had a soft spot for him. The guru-dakshina he gave me for teaching him free was more than very few of my students could ever give. Now I love him dearly for his rudeness that day. I’m also grateful to my students’ guardians. The most prideful and joyful thing in this world is to do what ten others think you cannot do. I remember them with reverence for unknowingly throwing this challenge my way.
Another thing,
The easiest way to quit tutoring is to actually quit tutoring. Trying to quit tutoring for several years is like trying to quit smoking several times over. How to start a task, or how to stop doing something you’ve been doing for a long time—
the simplest technique for that is captured in a dialogue from my very, very favorite movie ‘The Good, The Bad and The Ugly’: When you have to shoot…Shoot!
Don’t talk.
Thought: Six hundred forty-seven
………………………………………………………
: Hello, can you hear me?
: Yes,
I can hear you. Who is this speaking,
please?
: It’s half past one in the morning. Why are you awake?
Won’t you sleep?
: I can’t quite place who you are.
: No need to know. Want to chat?
: No. I’m hanging up.
Saying this, I cut the call. If a girl hung up on me, I’d think
all the girls in the world were crazy about me. The strange arrogant ego of youth.
Two days later.
: If you hang up, I’ll speak directly to your father. I’ll tell him everything.
: Meaning??
: You know me. What’s the problem with talking to me?
: Alright, go ahead.
: Scared? Hehe…..
The conversation continued. Young girls have a screw loose. They can cause trouble without thinking twice. If
she managed to get my father’s number and actually called him, father would think I didn’t have the courage to tell someone I liked them directly. That I was deliberately getting the girl to do my talking. There’d be no prestige left. How utterly embarrassing!
Another day.
: What’s the point of knowing who I am?
: I feel neither love nor hatred
for strangers.
: Haven’t you ever seen sudden rain? Our love is like sudden rain. Hehe….
: In movies, both the hero and heroine are beautiful.
: Even if you’re not handsome, I have no problem with that. Hehe ……
(I stayed quiet. The girl has a sense of humor. Which means
her chances of being pretty are slim.)
: Why so quiet? Hehe
…… So, what were you doing?
: Listening to music.
: Whose songs?
: Jagannmoy Mitra’s.
: Oh
…..
: How do you find his songs?
: Hmm,
good.
(It seemed like
she was making things up.)
: Which one do you like best?
: Actually, I haven’t heard his name.
(I fell silent……..)
: Why are you quiet?? Oh, okay, fine, I’ll listen to him. When his new album comes out, I’ll buy it and send it to you myself.
: He won’t release any more albums.
: Why?
Has he stopped singing??
(I got irritated. By then, even Jagannath’s ghost had died and become a ghost. The girl had her virtues. Excellent results. Read loads of books. All medical textbooks. And she knew Rabindranath’s name. She also believed that Rabindranath’s writings must be good. Otherwise, why would so many people praise them?
I grew tired of telling her to watch Life Is Beautiful and several other movies, and eventually gave up. Let her be as she is. But she had one wonderful quality—
she knew how to love, and she did love. Falling in love with boys and girls who get excellent results is often quite a punishment. She wasn’t like that. I was the one thinking like an ass.)
Happily,
today is her second wedding anniversary. I myself played matchmaker for her marriage. When I was studying at Chittagong College, I told a friend that Kishore Kumar was a big rice merchant in Khatunganj. He also sang as a hobby. Listening to his “Aaj Ei Dintake” on a Walkman, she was genuinely enchanted. My friend didn’t know Kishore Kumar. (Really didn’t know him.)
That day, his head bowed in reverence for this amateur singer. Sitting on the steps in front of the collapsible gate that was always closed in front of the Chemistry Department at Chittagong College, I told my good-natured friend all this in a convincing manner. Even the monkeys around barely suppressed their laughter that day. I’ve always been able to tell harmless lies very systematically, seriously, and sincerely, making them sound like truth.
Friend, this is what I ask for today—
raise your children listening to at least Lata and Kishore.
Srijato asks in his poem (to some girl),
If someone who hasn’t heard
of Shankha Ghosh
proposes to you,
what will you do……
Today, when at least two friends or younger brothers invite me to their weddings every week, when I like photos of friends’ angelic-looking kids,
when I see that fewer people in my neighborhood call me “dada,”
when school-going youngsters call me “uncle,”
when friends with settled marriages say
there were better boys or girls they should have chosen before,
then I tell Srijato:
If she’s worth saying yes to, I’ll get her to read Shankha Ghosh.
(Enough already…….) Most
girls gradually become like the boy they love.
Thought: Six hundred and forty-eight
………………………………………………………
Father, thank you!
I am deeply fortunate that there was no UPS in our house during childhood. When the power would go out in the evening, Father would bring us two brothers to sit with him on the veranda. We would wait eagerly every evening for the electricity to go off. Little me and my younger brother would sit perched on Father’s lap and listen as he told us how electric bulbs had stolen the moonlight and kept us deceived and distracted. From Father I learned to recognize the stars, how to touch and feel moonlight, what it was like when moonlight came slipping and sliding across the leaves of trees—Father would speak of such things. There was never a single holiday when Father wouldn’t help Mother with household tasks—cutting fish and vegetables, sweeping and mopping the house, washing clothes. Father might not have returned home with the most expensive food, but we ate that food in the most precious way possible. Father would say, “It’s only because your mother keeps the home running all day that I can go out and work.” I never once saw Father criticize Mother’s cooking. Father called Mother (and still calls her) the Home Minister. Mother was often unwell. When only lentils and mashed potatoes were cooked at home, I never learned from childhood to sit at the dinner table and ask Mother, “Isn’t there anything else?” Rather, Father would repeatedly acknowledge that Mother spent busy days with us two brothers despite her frail health. He would praise all of Mother’s work. Mother would light up like a little child with joy and, forgetting all her troubles, would sit down to tell Father stories of what had happened throughout the day. Father says, “Women are quite childlike. If you hurt their feelings, it comes back manifold.” My mother taught children at a kindergarten school. She did this purely for love. Running around with us, managing all the household work, maintaining social relations—Mother had to handle all of this too. I believe that if you give your wife the respect she deserves, even if you don’t reap the benefits yourself, your children will. I can say this with certainty. The person in the family who doesn’t earn money also feels just as tired as you do. There’s no connection between earning money or not earning money and feeling exhausted or not feeling exhausted. I have observed that if wages were paid for all the housework, my mother’s salary would have been at least double my salary. If life’s small joys can be savored with love, then not only does life’s entire equation balance out, but you get a bonus too. Food tastes good not because of flavor, but because of love. That’s perhaps why everyone’s mother’s cooking is the most delicious cooking in the world. Those who have been away from home for long periods know how easily one would bid goodbye to all the world’s riches for the craving to eat mother’s hand-cooked lentils and fried eggplant!
Why did all this come to mind? I read a story about President Abdul Kalam’s childhood. I’m writing it in my own way.
One day at dinner, Abdul Kalam’s mother placed a burnt roti and a bowl of vegetables before his father. Little Kalam waited to see if his father would say anything. As if nothing had happened, his father ate the roti and vegetables with satisfaction, asking little Kalam about what had happened at school, what his friends and teachers had said. Kalam’s mother was expressing regret and sorrow about the burnt roti. Then Kalam’s father said, “Ah, my beloved! I love eating burnt roti. Today’s roti is wonderful!” Mother went to sleep with a smile. Later that night, before going to bed, little Kalam asked his father, “Father, do you really enjoy eating burnt roti?” His father said, “Your mother worked hard all day and is very tired. The roti she made wasn’t from physical strength, son, but from the strength of love. Burnt roti doesn’t hurt anyone, but harsh words do. Listen, son! In this life, the people you’ll live with, the things you’ll deal with—none of it is perfect. Yet you can live beautifully even with all these imperfections. Son! Life is short! How many days will we live, tell me? Where’s the time to go to sleep with regret?”
After reading this story, I said once more in my heart: Father, thank you!
Reflection: Six hundred and fifty-nine
………………………………………………………
One.
It is through food that people become most intimate; wherever I have seen the bonds of inseparable family life looking sweetest, there I have noticed that the wife keeps feeding her husband with delightful novelty.
~ Satinath Bhaduri
Bhaduri Moshai, I have always envied your generation in such matters. Today’s moderns step into the kitchen’s shadow with the feet of housemaids. Or their mothers-in-law. Watching cookbooks or TV shows, they transform into Siddika Kabir with utmost care. That care moves through the realm of the mind as much as it does through the realm of the head. It’s easier to go from the kitchen to books than the reverse! But while eating that cooking, thinking of the exquisite beauty from the TV show brings quite satisfying enjoyment. All those mind-boggling women teach cooking. That’s why their style appeals to me more. I’m fairly certain that beautiful woman’s cooking doesn’t reach her poor husband’s fortune as much. At least in that regard, long live the modern educated bride!
I’ve seen friends say “thanks” with such dry mouths when praising their wives’ cooking. The fault is perhaps more the mother-in-law’s than the wife’s. Why does she assume that even after marriage, the daughter and son-in-law will continue eating mother’s cooking with ease? No matter how high their educational qualifications, it’s the Bengali nature to keep someone standing outside the door of the heart if they can’t pass the test of ‘extra qualification’ in at least one more matter. At least that’s mine. Violinist Einstein, footballer Niels Bohr, painter Rabindranath are much more dear to me. Whether it’s music, literature, cooking, or something else. But even without basic qualification, that ‘extra qualification’ has less value. Because then it’s no longer ‘extra’!
Who in this world is truly indifferent to what lies beyond their just due—the windfall, the bonus, the extra?
Let me clarify here: not all indifference is genuine. The one who forgets to ask for his money back from a debtor—he’s the one who earns the authentic certificate of absent-mindedness. How many boys marry carrying dreams and fantasies, only to end up sitting around building their own Bridges of Sighs!
Two.
A boy came to class with his hair spiked up with gel. The hair stood tall in the middle of his head like horns. With a cool, cool look and a don’t-give-a-damn attitude, he stared at the teacher.
Seeing him, the teacher said,
“Hey dude! Just having horns doesn’t make you horny, you know.” 😉
Poor guy was completely blown away!
How the girls laughed!
Let me tell you about another day. A boy, putting on some airs, sat in class with three buttons of his shirt undone, legs sprawled in a nawabi style. If he could have, he would’ve lit up a cigarette—that was the vibe.
(Same teacher)
The teacher said,
“Hey mister, button up your shirt.
You’ve nothing to show me.”
The poor fellow’s face at that moment was worth seeing. Hehe . . . . . ..
Teaching classes at IBA is also quite an entertaining experience. There’s so much to learn from here. From the teachers, from peers, from the course curriculum, from extracurricular activities, from inside the classroom, from outside. Smartness, working under tight deadlines, giving presentations, slacking off, mischief, taking on workloads (or appearing to take them on without actually doing so. In teamwork, often 2 plus 1 plus 1 somehow equals 4).
All the smart boys in the world study at IBA. Even smarter teachers conduct the classes. (Or perhaps IBA itself makes the boys smart before letting them go.)
There’s no angle from which you can underestimate IBA’s products. (Though the public tends to overrate us more often. Not that we really mind when they do. Hehe . . . . . . .)
Truth be told,
on IBA’s premises, in the hostel, I used to feel completely insignificant. Got no attention whatsoever. I really miss those IBA days.
Three.
In a relationship
Engaged
Married
My eyes keep getting stuck on these three options on Facebook.
Nowadays no one stays alone anymore. They stay alone with someone they like. What a joyous matter.
Some, of course, are blissfully munching on puffed rice. The rule of eating puffed rice is: you have to go far away, close your eyes and mouth, and eat by chewing slowly. On Facebook, of course, there’s no such rule. Here you can grin and show your teeth even with your mouth shut, you can hit ‘like’ even with an extremely dejected face.
The other day we went to see a prospective bride for one of our friends. After seeing the girl, when we said,
“Buddy, we all really liked her. She’s absolutely perfect!
You should agree to this.”
That’s when he decided
he wouldn’t marry her.
Our friend didn’t agree because of how we said it. Facebook doesn’t have this problem. Here everyone is beautiful, everything is beautiful; so here you only need to like. Want to be beautiful? Open a Facebook account.
Marriage and death. In both, there’s no discrimination of age or seniority. I know of a friend who, in anger and sorrow and resentment, had stopped going to friends’ weddings. He got married recently. He now understands that nobody in this world remains a bachelor forever. He too has the right to go to some friends’ weddings carrying a chubby baby. Getting married isn’t the only work in this world.
I was talking about living alone. Nobody goes bankrupt buying books. And not everyone goes bankrupt just because they have a wife. So both are good. But how good it is to have both together—that could be a subject for research.
The only problem with books is that there is no conversation (and the other
things).
People go bankrupt even without buying books. There are countless examples. Again, those who are somewhat bibliomaniacal like me, they also go bankrupt from the sorrow of not buying books.
He who has no wife has books. He who has no books has God. He who has no one has Facebook.
The weekend could also be the last week of life. Who can say! I go to the bookstore. I handle books, browse through them, buy them. I have three addictions: books, movies, music. Teeth look beautiful in a row of teeth, books are everywhere. At home, if I see a place where books can be kept but there are no books, I feel somehow uncomfortable. I’m married but my wife isn’t with me; there’s space on the hard disk but no movies—both are similar feelings. And needless to say, any person devoid of music is dispensable. Things have reached such a state that there’s no room for bookshelves at home, yet piles and piles of books lie scattered, waiting for shelves.
Last words. Not everyone is happy; some are bachelors. May all the bachelors of the world be happy, may they find well-being.
Thought: Six hundred and fifty
………………………………………………………
A little while ago, Walid bhai called from Japan. He ranked first in the BCS Foreign Service cadre in the 34th BCS examination. I’m sharing some of his words.
# Fifty percent of the contribution behind my becoming a BCS cadre belongs to you and Masfi bhai. I should openly confess this.
# I saw in the paper that all the coaching centers have made me their student. What ridiculous people!
# What has happened in my inbox over the past 3 days
is something I truly could never have imagined. People really cannot accept anything easily. In this sector, at least when it comes to preparation techniques, you are a complete living legend. I know they don’t spare you either, but then again, they also follow your techniques. There are certain vested groups who say such things to make themselves popular. Cheap!!!
# I often wonder
how you continue to inspire people this way even after everything!
You have inspired me greatly, brother.
……….. 644! This very number brought me to where I am today. I would often keep your written exam marks in mind and very silently, very attentively read all your posts. I would only tell myself:
I must beat 644,
by any means necessary!
# Brother,
I was a candidate who failed the 33rd preliminary exam. Later, I studied very well for just 1 week before the 34th BCS preliminary. Before the written exam, I left everything else and studied for 2-3 weeks, and today I got the job.
# I generally don’t read books much,
I have little patience. I can’t recall ever reading anyone’s writing with much attention. But in my life, I have read two people’s writing without any fatigue. During graduation, the person whose writing enchanted me was Anisul Haque, someone Masfi brother greatly dislikes. Hahahaha………. During post-graduation, the person whose writing I always read was you. The fluency of your writing keeps me captivated. I always tried to replicate you. Whenever I wrote something, I would think: is this becoming like his? I tried to follow your style. Let me tell you something true, brother. No one would even believe it. During the 34th BCS written exam, the night before the Bangladesh Affairs and International Affairs exams, what I sat and studied was your and Masfi brother’s writing. I read very attentively and thought: tomorrow in the exam, I will write exactly like this. I never told you these things. If I had, you would have thought I was flattering you. Today there’s no barrier to saying it. So I’m thanking you and lightening myself, brother. If I were in the country, I would have met you and you would see tears in my eyes.
# This effort you continue making to help the young generation
will be remembered by everyone. What do you gain from standing for hours and hours speaking at various career discussions? Nothing. It pains me greatly, brother, to see how much you write in papers for these young people. Having had to write and speak myself in the course of debating, I understand. Like that piece you wrote in Prothom Alo recently, “35th in 35 points” — such a small writing will help so many people get jobs, you cannot even imagine. I confess today, brother: you were my idol. My endeavor was to do what you do, no matter how difficult. Math, science — these things can be learned. But for subjects where you have to write extensively, what I simply did was try to write following your writing style. I never told anyone these words. Today, being able to tell you feels very good.
At one point during our conversation, Walid Bhai said,
“Brother, I have my tonsil surgery the day after tomorrow. Please keep me in your prayers.”
I asked,
“Brother, why are you talking so much despite your tonsil pain?”
“Brother, you’re always busy, so I don’t call. I got the opportunity today. Please let me speak.”
I’m naturally an emotional person,
and after hearing these
words from him, I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. The vile things this man has had to endure for the past three days are painful even to think about!
Many have also asked me,
Brother, what’s the real story? Who came first?
This needs to be clarified. ……… Ah!
How much pointless time people have! It’s maddening to even think about!!
Let me say a few things. Don’t get angry. If you do, so be it! There’s nothing I can do about it.
One. That Walid Bhai has secured first position in the combined merit list
may be difficult for many to accept. We’ll have to wait a bit to know this completely. But this man has secured first position in a top-tier cadre like Foreign Service,
hasn’t he?
Those of you making nonsensical comments—
could your entire families combined manage to secure first position in Foreign Service even if you all took the BCS exam? Yes, brother, I’m throwing down an open challenge. If you can, then prove it instead of shouting like street hooligans. Your actions talk much louder than
your words!
Two. Those of you in second or third year who will take the BCS exam someday
but have made ridiculous comments,
let me tell you something. Can you even pass the preliminary exam after graduation? Do you have the slightest idea what the BCS exam is?
Do you understand what it means to secure first position in Foreign Service?
If you understood even a little, your chest would tremble before speaking such words. And those of you who have decided you’ll never enter civil service anyway,
why are you making such a fuss about this? What’s your problem?
Three. By fighting over who came first
and who came second,
will you get the job?
Where do you find so much time to fight? Can’t you study during that time? Why does your heart burn so much when you see a beautiful wife in another man’s house? Drop this obsession with others’ wives and get in line.
Four. Many have gotten entangled in private university versus public university debates. Absurd!
Our government has kept provisions for graduates from private universities to take the BCS exam. Who are you to comment on this? Do only donkeys study at private universities?
Do you dream of entering civil service with such antiquated thinking?
Please, don’t come here. It would be better for the country if people with such narrow minds didn’t enter civil service. Candidates from National University have managed to secure fewer positions at the top of this merit list. We’ve had to read some ugly comments about this too. Perhaps you don’t know that in other BCS exams, National University graduates have secured first and second positions in various top-tier cadres. If you don’t know, find out. Don’t prove yourself a fool by making such ridiculous comments. If you always judge someone’s merit by their educational institution,
your assessment will often be wrong—
I say this from my own experience.
Five. Why state the obvious again and again—that Dhaka University is the best? I doubt there’s any fool who would disagree with this. Brother Walid earned his Master’s from this university. I too completed my Master’s here. There were other universities, weren’t there? For the two subjects we studied, if we hadn’t gotten admission to these top departments at the country’s finest university, we might have tried elsewhere. Not just in civil service, but in the corporate sector too, Dhaka University reigns supreme. I admit there’s good reason to celebrate this, because Dhaka University’s results in the 34th BCS were truly exceptional. My university—I take pride in it, as does Brother Walid. But if we belittle other educational institutions, make disparaging remarks, it hurts their students just as much as it would hurt me if someone spoke badly of Dhaka University. That my mother is good doesn’t mean everyone else’s mother is bad.
Who’s greater—Sachin Tendulkar or Brian Lara? I still see some people debating this even after all these years. Yet look—neither of those great cricketers ever lost sleep over such questions. Where did they have the time? They were busy surpassing themselves. Critics’ only reward is self-satisfaction. Since they lack any qualification for greatness themselves, they remain forever in the ranks of losers or at best, mediocrities. See how much we’re shouting and carrying on, while Sister Mausumi or Brother Walid make no such fuss. Why not? I’ll answer with an old Facebook status of mine…
Those who understand more—I understand them less. Don’t even try to. No time. He who can, does; he who cannot, teaches. A TV commercial comes to mind. A chocolate ad. Various people commenting on a chocolate. Some saying it’s good, others bad, some confused. One person says nothing. Mouth shut. Everyone asks, “Brother, why aren’t you saying anything?” He barely opens his mouth to reply: “Brother, how can I speak? I’m eating!” This was one of the best ads I’ve ever seen. When you are in the shit, keep your mouth shut. The wise debate, the gifted move forward. This is always true. Look at Bill Gates, look at Zuckerberg. And so many others! All the world’s awards are given for work, not for criticism. One group works silently, another criticizes loudly. Nobel Prizes go to writers, not to critics. For critics, the consolation prize is merely private self-satisfaction. God bless them.
What did you understand?
Finding it hard to accept?
Accept it, accept it,
because this is reality. The prerequisite for success
: you must learn to endure success. Why would God give you something
you cannot even tolerate?
You’d get indigestion!
To become great in life, you need a habitual ‘selfish’
weakness to greatness. Try to replicate the qualities of those who are successful in their respective fields. Whatever goal you wish to reach,
maintain profound reverence for that goal. You haven’t achieved success? So what?
Try again. If necessary, learn silently and humbly from those who have succeeded,
how to walk
that path. I cannot shift the responsibility for my failures onto others’ success, can I?
Thought: Six Hundred Fifty-One
………………………………………………………
One. To those who did well in HSC,
I extend my congratulations.
I have some small requests for those close to the successful ones. Keep in mind that in the coming days, whatever achievements they attain
should never undermine this accomplishment in any way. Many cannot handle the burden of early success. Many young achievers end up believing
that life is over right here!
Young in age,
young in wisdom too. My beloved writer Sunil once said in an interview,
“Self-satisfaction equals death.” I cherish these words deeply. Getting a GPA of 5
is not trivial, yet it’s not everything either. If they ever have to hear, “These days even chairs and tables get GPA 5. Couldn’t even get into a good place!
Actually has nothing in the head. Just got A+ in the system.”
Then you will feel the most pain. I got star marks in HSC. From Chittagong College in Science, we who got star marks were at most 60-70 people,
or even fewer. Now many more get Golden A+. I couldn’t take the BUET exam because I got lower marks in Physics-Chemistry-Math. Later I came second in CUET’s admission test. Now I see Golden A+ students can’t even make the waiting list. It truly hurts. You parents are largely responsible for this too. You must discipline them strictly,
make them understand. You must say ‘no’ to many of their unreasonable demands. A boy or girl who has just passed HSC understands nothing about life,
or whatever they understand is mostly wrong. Have frank conversations with them. What do they know? How much do they really understand?
Their world is very colorful. You know the world isn’t really like that. Those who don’t get into good places aren’t really taken seriously by anyone. When you’re not taken seriously, most people become weak. Many do bounce back later, of course. But that’s completely uncertain!
Your responsibility
is to ensure they don’t step onto the wrong path. Find out whom they associate with. Without seeing good students around, the desire to excel doesn’t arise. When it’s too late, scolding them or feeling bad won’t help. Don’t abandon them, keep them under your watchful eye. They
haven’t grown up yet. In the world’s eyes, they
are still nothing! Until they become something, always stay by their side.
To those of you who haven’t achieved the success you once hoped for, let me tell you something: there’s a significant hidden advantage to finding yourself on the list of the less successful at a young age. The successful ones will consider you an easy target. This very complacency of the successful 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. We can never imagine where life will take us. Life is always stranger than fiction. Never measure yourself by grades alone. I myself was among the lowest-scoring students in my university batch. So what if your results weren’t good? Take it as a challenge. Show the world that you are by no means a failure. Use your strength properly. Our problem is that we think ourselves weak, ask for small things from life, and receive them. Alas! We spend our lives content with just that! Wandering around Facebook, laughing and having fun makes people weak. Never do this. This is the time for you to work impossibly hard. You’ve only just begun to grow up. The world will no longer forgive you for your mistakes. If you don’t take your mistakes as lessons for your life, you can be certain that much bigger shocks await you. Not everyone can pay the price for their mistakes—most simply get lost. None of us came to this world to get lost. If we can’t achieve anything in life, the responsibility is entirely our own. At least everyone around you thinks so; they may not say anything aloud, but they will consider you incompetent. Truly, it will hurt terribly then. I’ve seen many young people get lost, simply because they weren’t conscious after passing their HSC. You too will join their ranks if you sit there treating your HSC results as everything. Try to get admission somewhere good. Your parents aren’t obligated to pay for your private education. Your parents don’t work to pay the price for your carelessness. Have you ever put yourself in their shoes and imagined how difficult life actually is? Did they give birth to you so they could spend their entire lives paying for your incompetence? Work hard. You can’t even imagine how upset you’ll be when your friend gets into a better place than you. Prepare yourself—all that rest and relaxation can come later. Now is the time! None of us knows what will happen ten years from now. Never think of yourself as so small that it prevents you from even starting. Never think of yourself as so big that it prevents you from finishing.
Good luck!!
Two. The other day I was visiting a colleague’s home, chatting about this and that. Apu has an adorable little boy—he must be five or six, studying in class one. Such a sweet-looking child; his eyes are dreamy and floating, and how wonderful it feels to caress those little hands as they touch his lips and mouth! When you hold him in your lap, he just keeps telling stories about the world. What this teacher did, what his friends said about what, how many toys he has, who bought him which one, who broke which ones… and so much more! Those soft, tender cheeks—you just want to keep pulling them gently and kissing them. His long hair is as soft as silk threads. It feels so soothing to spread it out and play with it between your fingers. I’ve always been able to get close to children very easily.
“Get out of here! Don’t disturb Uncle!”
“Let him be, Apu! He’s not bothering me.”
“Oh no, you don’t know—he’s very naughty. No interest in studies, just mischief all day long.”
“He’ll study, he’ll study. He’s still so young.”
“Yeah, I’m still small!” (The little one curled up even more in my lap as he said this.)
“Quiet! No studying, just monkeying around—are you small or not?”
“Mama, should I give Uncle chocolate? Where are the chocolates?”
“Smart enough to eat chocolate, aren’t you? You don’t need to give anything. Get out of here!”
He climbed down from my lap and started tugging at his mother’s hand, wheedling, “Mama, give me some, Mama, give me some. Uncle wants to eat chocolate!”
“Get out of here! Go finish your homework.”
“No, I won’t go. Give me chocolate—I really, truly won’t eat it myself, I’ll just give it to Uncle.”
“You’ll get a beating—go!”
“No, give me chocolate, you have to give it!” he said, and once again grabbed the corner of his mother’s kameez and started pulling.
My colleague suddenly flared up and delivered a sharp slap right across her tiny son’s cheek. “Get out of here!!!”
On his small, fair, chubby cheek, the red marks of five fingers literally appeared. Wiping his eyes with the back of his round little hand, he went inside the house. When I tried to take him in my arms, Apu stopped me, saying, “Please don’t encourage him, brother. If you don’t discipline them from childhood, they’ll completely climb on your head.”
“What are you saying, Apu! What does he understand? He’s still so young!”
“Oh brother, you haven’t gotten married yet—you wouldn’t understand. They understand everything.”
“Apu, please don’t hit him like that. I don’t know if what I’m saying is right, but I’m saying it anyway. Please don’t mind.”
“No brother, discipline is necessary. He doesn’t study anything. Last term he fell below tenth place.”
“It will come gradually, Apu. He’s still so young.”
“Hahaha… good, good. Alright then, let’s go. Brother Zahid’s house is nearby—just a five-minute walk.”
We were about to leave when I saw Apu’s little boy running from somewhere, wiping his mother’s sandals clean and placing them in front of her feet, then standing at a distance with his head bowed, silent.
After what had just happened, witnessing such a scene was unbearable. Hiding my tears, I said to my colleague, “Apu, won’t you take him along?”
“Oh no! He’ll stay with the housemaid… Parul! Take him! Make breakfast for your brother when he comes.”
I couldn’t remain silent any longer. Pulling the child into my arms, I said, “Apu, let’s go then.”
Downstairs, completely ignoring his mother’s furious glare, I bought him two Cadbury chocolates from the shop. Trembling with fear, he tucked the chocolates into his shorts pocket while stealing pale glances at his mother. “Mama won’t say anything, sweetheart. Go home and share these with Mama.” From that moment until we finished the gathering and returned him to his mother’s arms, I saw clear traces of fear etched on his face. Perhaps something terrible was waiting for him at home.
I have some questions for you strict mothers:
Didn’t you make demands as a child?
Will your little one be spoiled if you occasionally indulge a request or two?
How did it feel when you were scolded or slapped in front of others as a child? Children have very intense self-respect, you know.
Were you always first or second in school as a child? Really? The greatest people in the world were never top students in school. Look into their family education and upbringing. You’ll find their real learning happened elsewhere entirely.
Who taught you this wisdom of raising children through beatings? When they make small requests, you could set some conditions. For instance: you have to finish all your homework, pack your bag for tomorrow, drink all your milk, and so on.
When they show love, must you remain cruel toward them?
Young or old, who doesn’t want affection? Everyone lives for a little tenderness. How will your little one grow up without receiving any love?
There are psychological books on child-rearing available, and you’ll find plenty online too. Please read something! A child might grow up under beatings, but they won’t truly mature—I can say that with certainty.
I’ve shown quite a bit of maternal affection here. Sorry, please forgive me. Let me recommend a good book for mothers before I go. Don’t children ask a thousand questions about everything under the sun? Adrish Bardhan has gathered such wonderfully peculiar questions from conversations with many people and sought answers to them in his three-volume work ‘My Mother Knows Everything.’ I salute him for this extraordinary effort. He has taken great pains to write this wonderful book. It’s published by Ananda in Kolkata, with excellent crisp printing, good paper quality, and quite decent binding. I like to give this book as a gift at children’s birthdays. Why shouldn’t a gift for a child’s birthday be given to the mother as well?