Thought: One Hundred Sixty-Nine.
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I had written the following in a status:
I feel an intense desire to love someone deeply.
I want to hold someone’s hand and walk along the soft slopes of mountains, reading Purnendu Patri’s ‘Kothopokothon.’ All our emotions would scatter across the sleeping mountain’s body in the night …………. Ammmmmuuuuuuuuuuuuuu…………..why don’t I have someone like that? Why am I alone? What kind of justice is this!
I want to kneel on the ocean shore before someone, holding a bunch of white tuberoses, and shout ‘I love you!!!!’ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I want to rest my head in someone’s lap and lie on a gentle carpet of grass in an endless field, gazing up at the night sky ………… looking into my eyes, they would sing ……….. “Bondhura, nid nahi ankhipate” ………… the melody’s trace would wrap softly around every pore like winter’s white blanket ………….. Isssssss………… does this make any sense??? Tell me!! Does any of this make sense???
I want to breathe deeply the fragrance of someone’s silky hair, letting it scatter across my eyes, face, nose, cheeks, lips, swaying in the gentle breeze with some wonderfully enchanting, magical sensations ………………
I dare not ask a kiss,
I dare not beg a smile,
Lest having that, or this,
I might grow proud the while.
No, no, the utmost share
Of my desire shall be
Only to kiss that air
That lately kissed thee.
I salute Mr. Herrick! How does a person write those last two lines!! How does such a thought even occur to someone!! I read and wonder, why hasn’t my head exploded yet?? ……………… Women only fall in love with writers! That’s absolutely right!! Why wouldn’t women love writers??
Does Srijato just casually throw questions at women……………
“If someone who’s never heard of Shankha Ghosh proposes to you, what would you do?”
Right after that, I had to write the following in the next status:
You write these things to rob women of their sleep.
I see you’re trying quite hard to woo women!
Blah blah blah ………….
Yes, brother, you’ve got it right. What do you do, tell me? Do you write to woo men? Have you dedicated your life and youth to robbing men of their sleep, brother?
Or can’t you write at all? Is that why it bothers you!
All this boy-boy love isn’t right. Mom will scold!
Why so jealous, brother? If you can, show me by writing just two lines! Women will burn for you too. They’ll burn even more intensely than the glowing tip of your cigarette!
Stop talking like a goat, boss!
Everyone feeds goats jackfruit leaves, not love. What’s the point anyway? If you give goats love, they’ll chew up and swallow the love too. What won’t goats do
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Reflection: One hundred seventy.
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I truly understand very well
that no one can be forced to become one’s own. But what can I do, tell me—I was born such an idiot with infinite capacity to consider everyone my own, without even the slightest sense of self-respect. I keep mistakenly enjoying the thought—no, surely you have a different place for me within you. But in the end I discovered myself to be a tactless, irritating fool and a worthless good-for-nothing. I couldn’t maintain a safe distance. I take complete responsibility for this myself. Along with that, I pierced my own chest with the answer to a question sharp as an arrow,
one I’ve been searching for as if across centuries—”What am I to you?”
“No one!
No one!!
No one!!!”
I feel like
ending this life right here, right now. If I survive beyond today, it will merely be dragging this body around. Nothing more.
Well then, why don’t you too tell me straight,
like I do—that I’m no one to you?
Why don’t you say it?
What do you gain by keeping me trapped like this? I’m suffocating…….
What I sat down to write today, I had decided not to tell anyone. Let some words remain entirely mine!
Let that silent pain and deep anguish remain only mine. That was my wish. Yet I can’t help but tell you—
look!
There was a time I had taken my life to a place exactly between life and death,
where my likes and dislikes,
my desires and gains—none of these had any value. Life’s accounting, for me, was limited to breathing and fulfilling some responsibilities. It wasn’t that long ago—
just over a year! I didn’t turn to look at myself even once. Why would I?—I had no answer to that question! Have you ever dragged life along by force?
Yes, then suddenly you came and somehow, with some magic spell, awakened me again!
I began to laugh,
started weaving dreams, felt like valuing myself once more. The desire to keep myself alive is such a destructive desire—how many other desires it drags into life!
Once again I seemed to begin loving myself—simply because you were beside me! In your eyes I learned to see life.
Then, one morning I woke up and discovered you had moved away from me. I can see you,
but cannot touch;
I can call,
but cannot hope for a response. ‘What kind of morning is this,
darker than night!’
I began to suffer greatly. Because
gradually I started losing not you,
but myself. Have you ever watched closely
someone counting down to their death?
Yes, if you come to me now, that’s exactly
what you’ll see. I have no sorrow,
no regret—once upon a time, this was my life. I tried to convince myself, “Not everyone in this world can achieve everything. Everyone has limitations. That I cannot have you—this is the limitation of how I must live.” The very next moment my heart cried out: my limitation is that I never learned to live only for myself. All this time I lived for you; now I will live for no one else. Ramadan is the month when prayers are answered. They say Allah surely grants the prayers of those who fast. I truly wish that whatever life remains to me should belong not to anyone else, but only to you.
Let many people laugh! Let them learn to live,
let them dream,
and let no one be lost. Because only you can awaken life after life so completely!
I will depart—in this
departure I have not the slightest sorrow, because I never learned to love myself; I loved you. And you love life,
you have so much to receive and give to this life. I had only you,
now I don’t. You live carrying both my life and your own life together—this is what I desire. So there is joy in this departure of mine.
Yet leaving never happens; I only witness changes, and duties shackle my feet with heavy chains. Social obligations and responsibilities wall my existence within barriers of prohibition. And through all of this, my way of living whispers in my ear: “When you give someone excessive importance in life, you only render yourself insignificant to them. Alas,
yet some people become so important in life that nothing else remains to be done. You are such a person to me. Now I can sacrifice myself for that person,
as this is the best thing I can do.” Believe me, I’m not raving at all; what I’m saying, I say with understanding—if such a time ever comes, you’ll have proof.
Thought: One hundred seventy-one.
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Every human being hungers for love. And so expressing love becomes crucial. The people around me—mother, father, brothers and sisters, some friends—all are accustomed to keeping this love only in their hearts, so none of them feel any urgency to express it. There’s that saying about life being a battle, isn’t there? You’ve surely heard it! Fighting that battle, we’ve all somehow become robot-like. So showing love seems like luxury to us. Staying within this old habit, even when we want to, expressing love deeply doesn’t happen. But we do know how to read each other’s hearts. With this invisible thread of connection, our family remains beautifully ordered. I believe the picture is roughly the same for most families. No one is told “I love you,” but still profound affection works powerfully between us.
You know, I tell you so much about my condition, but I don’t share even a quarter of it with any of them. Fearing they might see tears in my eyes, I’ve learned to smile like this! Do you understand how torturous it is to swallow pain and smile? When I’m deeply hurt, when I can’t bear it anymore, I don’t know why, but I tell only you. Last night was one such night of anguish. I found solace in the path you taught me. Reading the poem “I Speak of Legend” over and over, I felt myself healing—perhaps no medicine works quite so well. Reciting poetry and listening to songs truly lessens the pain. And if they happen to be sorrowful poems and songs, then there’s nothing more to say. Indeed, the rest of the night passed sleepless for me, I just listened to songs of my choice. This too you taught me. Tell me, how did you come to know this therapy?
I’ve rambled on with such nonsense. I’ll go now, I mean… I’ll come back—for I must return to you again and again.
Oh, and don’t forget to email me your new writings! However angry you might be, you’ll do me this small favor, won’t you?
There’s no charm in well-behaved boys. Roguish boys have always been more attractive than simple, innocent ones. I didn’t fall for you because of your modesty, nor for your good results. It was for your distinctive mischief, understand? Gradually, as I came to know you, when I discovered that within the very good person Kajol lived a terribly mischievous boy named Robi, then I had no choice but to love you. The way you chat with so many girls—each one initially thinks, “Oh, how much importance he gives me, how much he likes me,” but later when they learn this is a regular occurrence, even if they drift away, they can never quite return. So what does this tell us? You are the crown prince of rogues, the king of Lanka, stealing and eating your fried chanachur! Hahahaha… But all in all, this complete package of yours is what I like.
I absentmindedly tagged you in a public post. Please forgive me if you noticed it. I couldn’t keep the promise I made to myself. Everything I tag you in is set to “only me.” Yet I had sworn I wouldn’t tag you anymore, and there I went and did it in a public post… What I did yesterday was done in error. Not understanding why you’re so hurt by that tag was doubling my own pain, and continues to do so. Actually, yesterday one of our college’s political brothers knocked in my inbox and behaved very badly. He insisted he would force me into a relationship, and said other things not worth writing. He threatened me—if I didn’t agree to his proposal, he wouldn’t let me come to campus, would disturb my younger sister, would abduct me. My mood was so soured, believe me! Those who want to be known by their political identity, abandoning all other aspects of themselves, are truly helpless creatures. Tell me, are all political boys fools and thugs?
Perhaps I need a break from you, to step away. If this spiritual connection of ours becomes a source of pain for you, it wouldn’t be right of me to maintain it.
I feel like asking some very simple questions.
1. Why did you forbid me from giving you a nose ring for your wedding?
Why did you say you’d be terribly annoyed if I gave you any gift at your wedding?
2. Why did you say your life was over?
3. Why did you remove your name from those two photographs of ours yesterday?
So many others were in them too. So what are you hiding from?
4. Why don’t you answer when I call?
5. Tell me clearly what I’ve done wrong, because my mind really isn’t working anymore.
6. I would have been saved if I had simply died. Because,
even as I try to distance myself, seeing you unwell, I can no longer hold myself together. I can neither move away nor come to you. It’s impossible for me to step away from your side without seeing you well.
7. If you could openly explain your situation to me,
then perhaps I could do the right thing properly.
8. If you think my suffering needs to end, then let me know everything openly. By phone or letter,
however you feel comfortable.
9. Why did you remove that long post the other day, after taking such pains to write it?
Do I talk too much?
If I do,
it’s only with you. Apart from you, almost everyone knows me as someone of few words. When writing to you, I’m very cheerful. Even thinking of you brings me great joy. But know this for certain—
I am not selfish in any way. If you ever think me selfish, even by mistake, I will become very small in my own eyes. I will suffer greatly that day. Don’t give me that pain, will you?
One request—
stay normal. That alone will give me peace.
Thought: One hundred seventy-two.
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This is the first time reading anything of yours has left me breathless!
I’m only human,
after all!
All these letters I write to you—couldn’t you write even one such letter for me? You could have, certainly!
But you didn’t. Because you never could love me the way I love you. Of course, how many hundreds of people drown you in such mad love! That’s true,
isn’t it? All of that is your due. And I am so insignificant in comparison! That I know how to see beautifully, how to think grandly, that my heart is vast—
I didn’t know this
until you showed me. Through your eyes I discovered myself anew. I learned to hear birds sing in new melodies,
learned to live by breathing the fragrance of wind, learned to bathe endlessly in cascades of light. This
new life of mine is therefore your gift.
The day I learned that you were busy preparing for your wedding,
from that day onward what emptiness began to engulf me!
You can certainly do without me,
because I truly have nothing of worth to offer you. Within my mind, a vast conflict between desire and capability rages constantly. Whatever the case may be, from afar I had been living all this while in that world where you were the sun. Therefore you were my universe. So surely you can understand
how my world swayed before me when your marriage was settled. But I was not unhappy at this news. Rather, this was one among countless wishes I harbored for you. Yet when this message of yours touched my finger on the touch screen, all my burning seemed to seek solace in the tears of both eyes. Someone seemed to press a very sharp, blunt knife hard against my heart. This is terrible agony, you know?
I lack your kind of simple, beautiful, fluent expressive ability. I am not so skilled an artist. But this is an attempt to explain somewhat the pain that was happening,
which was utterly unexpected. Physical suffering can somehow be endured. But such heartache destroys all vitality. The cause of the anguish
is not so much that you are getting married, but more that I had to seek out and dig up this truth for myself! While others learned of it naturally—easily,
wonderfully! Perhaps I could not become as close to you as they were. I accept this as my own failure. I know I could give you nothing
that would make you feel obligated to me. But the problem is,
I received so much from you that the receiving had become my habit—a little too much so. Now where shall I go?
To whom shall I turn? How shall I live?
Hey listen,
I was very happy with those many photographs you sent a little while ago.
(I didn’t say thank you out of habit. Do I need to say it from now on?)
I was wondering why I am suffering so much. Why am I thinking that I can no longer love you?
My love is within me. Then how will it leave me? Today my heart was so heavy that
I felt quite unwell. I took leave from the office,
didn’t go out anywhere today. I had many questions accumulated within myself. I was matching and finding answers to them. The clouds of sorrow were falling as rain. Why is there so much suffering—will you tell me a little?
A while ago I understood that you will remain forever in that place within me where you were. No one can ever take that place from you. I quarreled at home for a long time because of you. None of them can tolerate you. They believe
that because of you I am refusing to marry,
so you are their enemy. Does such an absurd mentality make any sense,
tell me?
Even today when I close my eyes, only one star spreads light there—that is only you. In my prayer chamber, before my Creator, I shall continue lighting the lamp of benediction for only one person in this way for life—that too is you. May you and your beloved sweet girl be very happy! This is
my first blessing for your wedding. And listen, you will soon have proof that I listen to your words very much, I pray constantly to the Creator for that as well. I would feel very good if I could make you happy.
I longed for that intimate room around you, that room whose pull toward home is intense, whose joy of dwelling is endless. But rooms collapse—this, perhaps, is the world’s law. A room can never belong to just one person. It needs a partner, at least in imagination…it needs one. And if that very person leaves, carelessly letting go of your hand, then the room ceases to be a room.
You emptied my room. Every time I want to call out to you, those three words come and shackle my hands, my feet, my voice—”Don’t knock.”
Reflection: One hundred seventy-three.
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There is a prayer: Rabbi irhamhuma kama rabbayani saghira. Its meaning: O my Lord, be merciful to my father and mother as they were merciful to me.
I was taught this prayer by my family. But since gaining understanding, I no longer offer this prayer. In my heart I say, free me from the incapacity they showed in being unable to be merciful toward me.
Why do I say this? Let me tell you. I have never knowingly heard my mother speak to me in a sweet voice as her child. The embrace and affection one must give a child—somehow mother never learned this. Mother believes one cannot kiss one’s child! So now when I speak loudly with mother, I tell myself, O Allah, don’t return everything the way I received it. Give me more patience so I can control my voice. I have never once seen mother cry for me. Hard to believe, isn’t it? I can’t believe it either.
And my father, whose two hands moved equally with every word—how do I love him? From the time I gained sense until today, I have never seen him speak gently to anyone. I have seen my mother, my sister, the street rickshaw-puller or the vendor bloodied by his hands many times—merely for being outside his opinion. Someone speaking against his view—in our house this was unimaginable. When that same father would press Eid money into my hand and lift me up to kiss me, spreading the prick of his beard’s stubble across my tender face, it felt very crude and unbearable to me. I would count seconds waiting to be freed from his two hands. I never saw father being humane. This is a great sorrow of mine.
These are really nothing worth telling, but I am deeply annoyed and exhausted with my own environment and my own family. I often think I should break free from this. But like shackles, my family surrounds me. It’s like a complex riddle—whichever way I try to escape—the path is blocked.
There’s a line from the film Sansho the Bailiff that I try to live by deeply—Without mercy, man is like a beast. Even if you are hard on yourself, be merciful to others. Men are created equal. Everyone is entitled to their happiness. I truly pray that I may be kind to everyone. Even those who have wronged me, who have caused me pain—may they too find happiness in life.
I was astounded reading today’s piece. Believe me, I’m still trembling! Your writing often resonates with many people’s thoughts, sometimes with mine too—what’s surprising about that! That’s not the point. The problem is purely personal to me. I know I must solve it myself. I just chatter away with you like this. Perhaps I even annoy you. I don’t want to think of myself as utterly empty, completely alone, so whatever I think, I think with you alongside me.
Life must be taken very lightly, mustn’t it? There’s really nothing here worth being serious about. A life that pays us no mind—why should we care so much for it? Whatever comes before us, we’ll spend life laughing our way through it. Whatever is about to happen, we’ll keep the path clear for it to unfold. We mustn’t take stress about anything. We must work toward fulfilling our plans, and then that very work will pave its own way to transform my imagination into reality. But I’m caught in a tremendous problem. Lately, along with my loss of appetite has come a complete aversion to all activity. Indifference and disinterest toward everything are terrifying me from within, and because I’m not where I want to see myself, rage keeps accumulating inside me that sometimes erupts in harsh behavior, in words. And in those moments, I feel so defeated before myself—it’s beyond words!
Thought: One Hundred Seventy-Four.
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When a picture is very beautiful, we say—just like real life! And when a real scene is very beautiful, we say—just like a picture! The matter is amusing. Creators are often unlike their creations. Not all creations are exactly true or infallible either; the nature of creation changes according to the creator’s scope of knowledge and thought. Except for the Creator of all creation, no creator is entirely right—regardless of how much they may have created.
I have seen,
Some love the Creator’s creation—not the Creator.
Some love only the Creator—not the creation.
Then again, some love both the Creator and creation.
Some strangely love the Creator’s creation through hatred of the Creator.
Or, for some reason, some—while loving the Creator—hate His creation.
These thoughts come to me most when I lie awake through the night. No, I don’t stay awake—it’s the night that keeps me awake. Sometimes I feel utterly helpless. I look at the clock and see time slipping past me, slipping away. One o’clock—two—three—four… it keeps advancing. I think, this sleeplessness of mine changes nothing in the world, hurts no one—this solitary suffering touches only me, alone. Sometimes I withdraw completely from everything and prove to myself, “See, Nairita, your emptiness changes nothing in the world, nothing at all. Look, look! Drink it in with your whole being! Ha ha ha ha…” Then again I console myself, “Today the world is not in good spirits, so it hasn’t thought of me today!” Then I drift into thinking—what would have happened if sleep had come easily! I would have just slept. This way is better! Much, much better! I’m thinking random thoughts… keeping company with the hushed, sleepless, silent night… when everyone falls asleep, doesn’t the night feel lonely too? The night creatures understand my suffering, and I understand theirs. I talk with the silence—in its room, the poet of darkness writes poetry. So many other things I think!
I can find no light ahead of me. Everything feels too chaotic. There’s no joy anywhere, and even when there is, it seems pointless, unnecessary, meaningless. Joy is not meant for me. In this moment I feel so lost that there’s nothing left to want or do. Only one thought remains: everything I’ve done, everywhere I’ve reached—it’s all meaningless! I won’t tell anyone anything anymore. In this world everyone is their own way! I too am completely my own way. Whether I live or don’t live in my own way makes no difference to anyone. I don’t want to be a source or catalyst of anyone’s irritation. Never, never! Those who don’t know how to value my love—there’s no need to show them my love. Just getting through the time of being alive is what matters. I can manage it—there are many things to do. Then when I leave, it will all be over. The task isn’t difficult. I can do it! I’ll never say anything again.
I long to know how you are, yet receive no answer. Tell me, would it cause you any trouble to let me know? I only want to hear from you so I can feel at peace about you. I can see and understand you completely, so I simply wish to sense your condition a little. I’m not asking for anything more than what you can give. Surely you can at least trust that telling me won’t harm you in any way! Or can’t you? Let me say this—do you know what struck me when I saw you at your friend’s birthday party last Friday? In some moments there, your rhythm faltered. You weren’t entirely comfortable there. When one’s heart doesn’t fully respond to a place, isn’t it better not to go? I may be mistaken in my observation, but I’ve said what I felt. Tell me, where are you taking yourself, Rono? I fear you might lose yourself again in what you are not! You’ve drifted somewhat from what you were! Don’t get lost again in that popular crowd! Is what everyone does always right? You understand all this very well, I know. Then why are you walking the wrong path? My only wish is that the gentle Ranjan I once knew should never be lost—is that asking too much? Rono! My heart tells me that many things are not right. Yet the struggle to move forward keeping everything right—that is life itself. This isn’t just about me alone, but about you too, isn’t it? Tell me.
Stay well—very well indeed.
Reflection: One hundred seventy-five.
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Do you know why I come to Facebook? I used to keep a diary once. Since Facebook arrived, my private diary pages have become Facebook—setting privacy according to my will, sometimes making it a chest, sometimes a letterbox or a postman. Facebook is my own curated world, a gathering of a few familiar faces, a newsroom of their joys and sorrows. My Facebook isn’t for everyone. I come here only for certain special people. Otherwise, life… goes on somehow anyway! The most beautiful aspect of Facebook is that whoever holds the key can use it as they wish. If you can control yourself, you can control your Facebook.
I never bind anyone. Both my hands and my heart remain open. What is meant to stay, stays naturally; what isn’t meant to stay, doesn’t. The truth is, what is meant to leave will leave no matter how tightly you cling to it, no matter how firmly you clench your fist—it will go, it will never stay. Why should one chase after someone with ropes and cords? Is life something to be spent tied up and bound, tell me?
Whatever I do, I do with my whole being. I don’t want to live hidden behind masks, holding back, calculating. What I want, I say directly. There was a question… in response, if you don’t want to, you can simply say ‘no’ directly… If I ever truly get that opportunity, and want to nurture your part within me, want to magnify it with my identity, would you give that to me? Don’t think me mad—I’ve said this to you in complete sanity.
Dear Badal,
After so many days, I had to choose that old path again today. Do you know why? For one reason alone—your infinite neglect. No, it’s alright, that’s what I deserve, isn’t it? You made everything clear long ago. It’s just that I’m the one who can’t turn back from that old walking path. Yes, perhaps I don’t even want to return. Returning may be necessary, but does that mean one can always return? That thing you taught me…if you feel good, keep going. Do you remember? You sent those words on a dove-calling afternoon. Why you sent them—I’m sure you remember. And if you forget, then forgetting is for the best.
This afternoon, with much hesitation and doubt, I called you. Ever since your Facebook account closed, I’ve been gasping for your writing, your updates. That was my only window to have you close, wasn’t it? If that too shuts, then what do I live for, tell me? Could you sense in my voice how much reluctance I had overcome to call you? But I caught your irritation perfectly. It wasn’t difficult at all. What you explained to me, I believed, I accepted. Whatever the one I love tells me, I quickly understand it their way. Of course, you’ve always been good at explaining. My talent for understanding is quite strong, but my talent for explaining is nowhere near as strong. And so my true condition will remain unknown to you, as always. Whenever I try to speak with you, this strange awkwardness comes from somewhere and possesses my voice—thinking about it amazes me! Even today, when talking with you, I truly lose myself just like that first day. And if you answer in such a harsh tone, then how can the conversation move forward, tell me? Please never speak to me in a scolding tone! My heart trembles when I see you being stern.
Tell me, are you getting very angry at me for saying all this?
On the phone I said I’m well, but do you know why I said that? When you didn’t ask after me even once, why should I give you my real news, tell me? The saying that no one but the sufferer understands their pain—it’s not true; others understand, if someone loves, then perhaps they can feel the tenderness even more deeply. Let that be. So what if I’m not well, I’ll get better soon enough. Compared to how I was just eight days ago, I’m much better now! Only sometimes I become terribly impatient, restless, uncontrolled. People live for love, and die for the same reason. When I look around and see that truly no one exists for me who would cry their heart out if I died, then what hope remains for living, tell me? Love is the world’s most deadly weapon.