Thought: Two hundred twenty-five.
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One should not harbor anger or resentment toward any person or people or anything for too long. It’s better to shake off the day’s anger that very day. When anger and resentment are nursed, they take on a terrible form in time—both in nature and in measure. If we consider it numerically,
let’s say,
for each day’s anger,
the expression of anger measures 1. By that account, thirty days of anger would amount to 30 in expression. But if thirty days of anger are harbored, then you’ll find
on the thirty-first day it explodes at 100! Therefore,
it’s better to settle the daily accounts of anger each day itself.
Because there is love…..
Because there is no love….
In silent hurt, so much happens……..
That news always remains unknown……
You know, I long so much to see……
But this is not
my prayer—let us meet……
My prayer is only this
that if you wish to see,
may it bring you joy—
let that meeting happen……..
Or,
the one you wish
to see—
with them……..let the meeting be.
May the beloved be well—in their cherished love!
Sometimes forgiveness……becomes more terrible than punishment. Such forgiveness is far worse than punishment!
Yet people,
only seek forgiveness…….
From people—
some things are not forgiven—
Of people—
some forgiveness is not sought—
for the punishment would be worse than punishment itself……..
Don’t kill me with forgiveness,
save me with punishment!
The sky is dark—
clouds have gathered.
Rain will come, I think……
Rain, I won’t
tell you today
don’t come to my home……
I’m telling you,
will you take me
to your home today?
Because Mother loves eating cake, I often buy her cake. I brought some today too. Suddenly a mischievous thought struck me! Mother’s Day is just days away. If I forget the occasion like last year and don’t give any gift, she’ll scold me calling me a ‘bad daughter’ till she’s hoarse!
Better to do one thing—pass off this very cake as a Mother’s Day gift! If I give something later, fine; if not, so be it!
No sooner thought
than done!
: Ma,
Mother’s Day is just a few days away, remember? Think of this cake as for Mother’s Day!
: Do you take me for a fool? Last year’s gift is still pending, you know!
Ma knows a scoundrel when she sees one! That’s no problem either. I’ve been wondering,
why is Ma becoming so smart?
What’s the story?
Reflection: Two hundred and twenty-six.
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Will there ever come a time again
when the lost words will want to be spoken as before, or when the vanished feelings will touch us just as they once did? The emotions that time steals away,
the affections it takes—does it ever return them as they were?
Often, feelings that belong to one moment are completely lost when that moment passes.
There was a time
when I used to draw constantly. There was nothing I wouldn’t draw on. I may have told you this in some piece of writing. I even drew with water on bathroom walls as a child. The different colors felt as dear to me as family members. My brother bought me a packet of colors. I kept those colors for nearly nine years. I loved drawing everything. Whatever I saw, I drew. Whatever came to mind, I drew. Many praised me, many envied me,
many were jealous. Among these jealous ones was someone—who now draws beautifully. Many in the country know him as a fine artist. When I see him, I remember that I was once the object of his envy, because I could draw better than he could. It brings me joy to think this. In truth, when you don’t stay engaged with a skill, your ability in that skill diminishes. My brother always showed intense interest in everything I did. One day, he enrolled me in art school. In our first class, we were asked to draw a strange bottle. Inside the bottle, a fairy was weeping,
the mouth of the bottle wrapped with ribbons of various colors. I drew it exactly as it was. A teacher saw it and exclaimed ‘Incredible!’ In his delight, he promoted me two classes up. In that class, for two days I understood
and learned about light and shadow. The next day, the teacher gave me a difficult scene of his own to draw. When the drawing was finished,
I gave both pictures to the teacher together. Looking at them, the teacher asked,
which one was mine?
If it had been watercolor, perhaps we could have told—mine would have been wet. But since they were pencil sketches, neither the teacher nor I could determine which picture belonged to whom.
I’m telling the truth—
that day I saw tremendous anguish in that teacher’s eyes. What he had learned over so many years, suddenly a little girl had appeared from nowhere and drawn exactly like him—he couldn’t accept this fact easily within himself. Yet for this very same reason, he could have been happy too. He said some things to me that day. Hearing them, I felt utterly helpless. It remains one of the greatest sorrows of my life. I don’t know what came over the teacher’s mind, but he was desperately trying to strangle both my confidence and enthusiasm!
After that day, I never went to that art school again. In those 4-5 days of classes there, I had only learned about light and shadow—of life,
of canvas.
I left art school but I didn’t give up drawing. I continued to draw for quite some time after that.
But at some point, I gave it all up. I didn’t know why myself.
Now I often think that the small resentments born of timing and mistiming eventually transformed into a great sorrow. What resentment, what sorrow—I don’t know. I only know this is true. It happens like this—even an extraordinary person becomes utterly ordinary for no apparent reason. There are countless examples of remarkable artists who, for some mysterious cause, lost themselves completely.
Yesterday, watching a folk artist’s painting on television, tears welled up in my eyes. I realized that though I had abandoned drawing, my love for it remained intact. Even now I often leave my department and wander through the fine arts building. Watching someone absorbed in painting—this sight brings such peace. The very next moment I think, why not just draw! Why don’t I begin again? I could start right now. I am capable.
No! I’ve forgotten everything……. in the delusion of will.
Perhaps this isn’t such a significant matter. But in our lives there are many sorrows that we believe have faded with time. Yet often they haven’t faded at all. They merely lie in wait, hidden deep within the chest. Even a pain from ten years ago, nearly extinct, can flare up at any moment—and instantly turn a well-ordered life into complete chaos. And it does.
With melancholy heart—
The moment I fix my gaze on that rising sun
Sunset comes descending……
At night’s end—
Dawn will surely return……
But life shall never come back.
Reflection: Two hundred twenty-seven.
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I have a dream world built around you. Between all the tasks of my real world, if I don’t steal away a few moments to spend in that world, I could never make you understand how difficult my path becomes. Yet perhaps only you could truly fathom this condition, no one else. I know I have become a resident of a terrible world. And the most terrible thing is this: there is no return from here! Until now, no one has appeared before me who could take your place. Most significantly, I came to know you during life’s most crucial time; I came to recognize you at such a moment when not knowing you would have been either the best or the worst solution. Sometimes in this life one must face questions whose answers are simply yes or no, yet it would have been most comfortable if such questions had never arisen at all. I am now passing through just such a condition.
When I found you in my calling out to my Creator—found you so completely that no matter how much my mind might want something else, in my deepest joy or deepest sorrow, you come to mind before Him. This is my simple confession. Don’t take offense. Before, when I used to chant my God’s name in times of trouble, I didn’t quite notice when that place was lost to your name instead. In my dangers, in my helpless desperate hours, I search for you in my mind, find my way through you. You show me the path. Have you become my God, Prohosto?
I pray to God that He may always be your helper, so that you may live your whole life as courage for others, endlessly.
I ask after you—is that so irritating to you?
For the past week I’ve been thinking and thinking. You could say this to me too! I haven’t yet developed the strength to imagine such bizarre thinking capacity—at least if I speak according to your version, after this resurrection of yours!
Besides, receiving such things from you isn’t entirely new to me. You’ve said it before, behaved so harshly before too—I’ve borne it silently, stayed away in pain. But I’ve always returned. Prohosto, I can’t quite understand how you see me, how much you truly value me. I’ve heard so much through others’ mouths. You spoke candidly about me to Atri Apu. You had a good relationship with her, friendship, so you spoke—you certainly could. You let her know your likes and dislikes. Who am I anyway! You can say whatever you want about me to whoever you want, can’t you?
Perhaps you want me to remain someone who will never question anything beyond your writing. Never trouble myself about anything else ever. That’s it, isn’t it?
I know that’s it.
But perhaps nothing in this world can be had the way we want it. At least that’s what I see from my life.
Pain! Such pain, do you understand? Pains fade away. Nothing lasts forever. The room you’ve torn apart—I’m only afraid to return there. How can one return alone to that room, tell me? It’s such agony to be alone in a world built for two.
Actually, the thing is this—toward those whose company I don’t like, I’m always quite indifferent. How much I ignore them, and how they take it—I don’t feel the need to consider that either. What they’re thinking isn’t important for me to know. I let them know from the start without any pretense—in your language, without even maintaining basic courtesy! That’s better, isn’t it, tell me? At least no one starts living in delusion from the very beginning!
Really, what fault is yours? When someone chooses the wrong path and begins to walk, how can the fault of that walking belong to the path itself! If there is any fault in choosing that path, it belongs to him alone, and no one else. That responsibility too cannot belong to anyone else.
Only happy people think about these most subtle and intricate matters of life. I’m far too happy. Lately I’ve been living in too much happiness. Should I stop committing the sin of asking after you, what do you say? Let my happiness grow even more.
Truly, when you fall deeply in love with someone, you can no longer have fun with them the way you used to. You cannot take everything lightly and float it away like cotton in the wind. Is the weight of love so heavy that it only moves downward? The older it gets, the more it settles and accumulates in stillness. It neither floats like water nor spills over. It lies silently in the depths below. Why can’t the old jokes come easily anymore? Neither jest nor ease—what kind of life is that? The humor that flows freely with everyone else seems to dry up instantly in their presence.
Oh! If only it could be like this—I would take a quiet little home somewhere in Birishiri, near the Garo Hills. You would come there sometimes, or often; whenever you wished, or when time allowed. Some private moments of ours would shimmer in that golden light. That memory alone would be the sustenance for my journey. The way you exist so intimately as mine, there………! And there we would have a son………he would be far brighter than you! A child of this age, as they say. What a wonderful way my time would pass raising him! Isn’t that so, tell me? You rotten boy, why are you getting angry, hmm?
What harm would it do if it were like this? If no one thought about it! If no one ever raised any questions! Could we never have had a little household of our own? When you came, we—I mean you and I and our little prince—would wander so much—in forests, hills. We would all wet our feet in the river together!
You live in reality, I die in imagination—which is happiness? He alone will judge that!
Thought: Two hundred twenty-eight.
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You don’t know, my mother is such a rascal! The woman is nothing less than a walking treasure mine! Not big money, but a mine of small money!
This wicked woman has money under her pillow, money under her mattress, money in every pocket of every purse, money inside showpieces, money inside boxes, money inside the kettle, money under clothes in the wardrobe………
I’m poor—I only have money between the pages of books. Huhuhuhuuuuuu………
Sometimes I feel like stealing that money!
But what would I do with money anyway?
That’s why I think about stealing, but in the end the stealing never quite happens.
I was afraid to message you. I realized I had gotten quite worked up yesterday. That’s why I put on such airs. You didn’t like it, did you?
I am so utterly scattered,
I will gather myself together,
but why?
Tell me,
for whom?
Why am I becoming so alone, day after day?
You will all remain just as you are,
I have no one. Why then should I smile?
Even food no longer tastes good. I find no interest in any work whatsoever. I see nothing ahead. Has my path then come to an end? Nothing feels good. No one feels good. What shall I do?
Why don’t you tell me! Whatever you say, I will do exactly that. I no longer wish to hear anyone else’s words.
I don’t know why my exhaustion has grown so intense lately! I only want to sleep. I want to escape and survive. But life won’t let me flee. I suffer greatly,
I want to say ‘farewell’ to everyone, but no one wants to let me go. Why must everyone together hold tight to one who can no longer live?
My weariness on this path only increases. I keep falling asleep. I cannot stay awake. It hurts to stay awake,
it hurts even more to fall asleep!
Why have all my enthusiasm, all my preparations lost their way like this? Was this meant to happen?
What crime am I being punished for today?
How much more suffering must one endure before one dies and lives? There are so many, many, many more such words. If I kept speaking, it would never end.
Everything I have said so far,
all of this is non-suffering and non-anger,
meaning even if I suffer, the responsibility is not yours. I release you from all accountability for my torment. Don’t you feel lighter?
Now shall I tell you about the sufferings for which you are responsible?
“Good Lord! Must I hear more complaints from this worthless old woman?”
Ha ha ha
Ha……..
No……I won’t speak
of suffering………such things are better left in silence.
Didn’t you say in your message the other day that I only seek sorrow unto death?
You spoke truly. But then,
why do you tell me to be well? How can pessimists be well?
I am not well……you stay well.
Where does fire dwell, tell me?
I will set the whole city ablaze……
Let it burn to ash in the fire of the deprived—
their love!
Tell me,
where does fire dwell?
Reflection: Two hundred and twenty-nine.
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Actually, I was going through a hellish deception in my workplace. I was trying to keep myself very normal. Later I realized,
the rope I try to hold and pull, saying ‘normal’ ‘normal’ to keep myself steady,
in fear I begin to tug at it abnormally. Then I lose control and fall into the abyss.
During that time, fearing that you were annoyed by my scattered words, I didn’t call out of fear.
My colleague Rafid Shams Anwar joined another university on June 1st last year. As soon as the students heard news of his departure, they walked out of class and padlocked the department.
He was undoubtedly a very popular teacher. But the reason for such agitation among the students was this—there was already a teacher shortage, and on top of that… Four teachers left one after another that semester. For five months there was no Head of Department. There still isn’t one.
What happened next was that, faced with the students’ militant stance, the university founder Mohammad Motin Islam brought Rafid bhai back. Moved by the students’ affection and taking on the responsibility of department head, Rafid bhai returned.
But we failed to understand that Motin saheb had been weaving his web of revenge for six months. He had declared outright that he’d had to bring Rafid bhai back with a higher salary due to student pressure. He would have his answer to this.
And he did.
A ridiculous drama was staged to frame Rafid bhai as guilty. And we teachers were told to take a position against him.
We colleagues learned the whole truth. It became clear that he was innocent. Still, by intimidating the students, Motin saheb extracted complaint letters from them—something he couldn’t manage to get from us colleagues. Since we colleagues were of similar age, our friendship was wonderfully strong. This was labeled as “forming cliques.” Rafid bhai came from a poor family. He needed the job. We colleagues clearly requested the founder not to stage this drama. We said this precisely so he would understand that we had grasped everything. He told us point-blank: I’ll do whatever I please in my institution. Anyone who wants to stay can stay, anyone who doesn’t want to can leave. The spineless flattery of some teachers and the dishonest actions of some opportunistic students at that time were deeply distressing.
I wanted to control the situation. I couldn’t. Because the preparation for this sordid affair had been going on for six months.
I’ve told you the story very briefly.
Rafid bhai is still unemployed. I feel worse for him. We found no justice from the administration, UGC representatives, or anyone else. Everyone conveyed the same message in roundabout ways—Uncle, save your own skin!
Working there went against my sensibilities. By the way, I liked your piece ‘Voluntary Annihilation—in Faith, in Work, in Soul.’ The writing was timely and beneficial for me. It was truly excellent. The truth is, suffering never comes to me alone. It brings a full battalion along. I’m not working now. My heart told me to leave. So I did. I fought for a year and a half. I kept getting defeated again and again. How much more? After the final defeat, I felt I needed to learn much more. I’ve taken study leave. Though I’m reading haphazardly. Whatever appeals to me, that’s what I read.
I know I’m running away from life. Running from life to try to keep life alive.
Reflection: Two hundred thirty.
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There’s a mistake I make deliberately,
which is,
talking only about my own suffering during difficult times. I know
there’s nothing more futile than marketing one’s pain. But what can I do! I desperately want a little consolation. I want
someone to give me a bit of courage. This habit needs to be abandoned.
My personal,
family circumstances have reached such a state that I tell the Creator—give me death. I can bear death, but not the shattering of dreams.
Then again I quarrel with the Creator. I say,
Creator, I am writhing in terrible agony. Can you see? Are you pleased? If you are satisfied with my suffering, then I too am satisfied.
I often remain silent without eating. Sometimes 26 or 27 hours have passed while I remain unfed. I know
what I want in life. But each time circumstances turn against me and torment me.
One thing—
we used to laugh a lot about magic, amulets and charms in childhood. But for several years now I’ve been having intense inner conflicts about certain matters. I read extensively about this in books, in the Quran. All doubts were dispelled.
You might read verse 102 of Surah Al-Baqarah. It is written there—They followed what
the devils recited during Solomon’s reign. Solomon did not disbelieve; the devils disbelieved. They taught people magic and what was revealed to the two angels Harut and
Marut in the city of Babylon. Neither of them would teach anyone without first saying,
“We are but a trial; so do not disbelieve.” Then they learned from them magic by which they could cause separation between husband and wife. But they could not harm anyone except by Allah’s permission. They learned what harmed them and brought no benefit. They certainly knew that whoever practiced magic would have no share in the afterlife. How wretched was what they sold their souls for,
if only they knew.
I firmly believe in my victory. Through the strength of belief I have not yet been harmed. But I have suffered immense mental anguish,
and continue to suffer. A few days ago I saw in Ahmad Sharif’s book that
he was utterly disgusted with all this black magic nonsense. Apparently people have been nurturing such practices in various parts of the world for many years. Even many developed countries practice this. When I started investigating these matters earnestly,
I searched online about them. In our country, black magic is practiced everywhere. The History Channel shows a documentary about black magic. The other day I spoke with some traditional healers and clerics for some family reasons. Among them I found only one person decent. All the rest practice black magic,
which we call blasphemy. In the Quran, Allah
has spoken of its terrible punishment. I didn’t seek to learn about these things without reason. Actually, nowadays many people, when rejected,
especially in matters of love,
take refuge in such nonsense. This not only harms oneself but also causes suffering to the person it’s directed at. I know a woman who is a doctor by profession and frequently resorts to black magic for various purposes. A large portion of her salary goes into the pockets of black magicians. However, I don’t know how successful such attempts are.
Muslims have a beautiful practice called Istikhara. It is performed when one needs to make a decision about something. In Fathul Bari Sharhu Sahihul Bukhari, Allama Ibn Hajar Al-Asqalani writes that Istikhara is an important practice in Islam. Istikhara is an Arabic word. Its literal or lexical meaning is—seeking blessings or asking for good in a matter. In Islamic terminology—through two rakats of prayer and a special supplication, seeking Allah Ta’ala’s guidance for the heart to incline toward what is preferable. That is, when choosing between two options, seeking Allah’s help through two rakats of salat and the Istikhara supplication to understand which will be more beneficial—this is called Istikhara. If one recites the Istikhara prayer after Isha prayers and sleeps, one may see glimpses in dreams of what is beneficial and peaceful, or understand what reality holds. For this, however, one needs to be quite devout. I know 2-3 such people who are educated individuals from respectable families. They can predict many things in advance. They don’t commercialize this practice, of course.
I keep fighting again and again. I believe that no matter what obstacles come, by the Creator’s grace I will be able to overcome them. The problem has become this: the person I’ve fallen for and want to marry—her mother practices all sorts of black magic, amulets and charms. This was the only reason I came to know about such things. I know various methods of these practices. But I’ve never had the desire to engage in them.
Now I think quietly. I’ve fallen so deeply in love with this boy that I want to pull him out of that world. He too, like his mother, believes completely in all that. His mother keeps him constantly mesmerized with various charms. He needs good counseling. If he becomes conscious, it won’t be so easy to keep him under such spells.
I’ve told you many things. Please don’t be angry. So much pain has embraced me. I don’t want it anymore. I want to live breathing freely.
Thought: Two hundred thirty-one.
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Stay hungry, stay foolish.—Steve Jobs
If you don’t think about your dreams, you’re not really thinking about anything.
The second line is yours. These two lines worked like a tonic for me when I just wanted to give up everything. I discovered these words when I came to your wall and found them in your writing. Then I thought, I too must learn to think this way. I wouldn’t respond to people’s words, thinking that this is what being foolish should mean. When I couldn’t focus on studies or anything else, when my mind would wander elsewhere, I would tell myself silently: if you don’t think about your dreams, you’re not really thinking about anything.
Truly, how tremendously these two lines have helped me, and will help throughout life—I cannot express it in writing. But if they hadn’t caught my eye through you, I would never have thought this way. Perhaps I wouldn’t have felt it so deeply!
How are you?
Good morning.
My head is splitting with pain. To go through all this trouble of dressing up in saris and jewelry, only to meet a prospective groom and then not be able to like him—tell me, how does that feel? I’m not even talking about whether he’ll like me! I’ve given up on that possibility altogether. You know why. But knowing all this, going through the motions of dressing up to see or be seen by prospective grooms—I’m truly tired and disgusted by it all. Still, I have to do it to keep everyone at home happy. And sometimes I’m frightened, imagining my solitary future. Then I think later—when there’s no certainty I’ll even be alive tomorrow, why worry so much about what’s to come! But if I do live, I’ll do something for helpless children, God willing! Whether anyone stands by me or not, I’ll be there among them. This is how the rest of my life will pass, perhaps. Why must everyone live their lives around husbands, children, and family? If each life is meant to be different, why must the pattern of living each life be identical?
I had thought, in this crowd of countless people, what difference would it make whether I exist or not! But I discovered that I myself am a huge issue—the source of many people’s smiles, and some people’s happiness too. So inevitably, I have to step onto the stage of performance. But if the character is interesting and the story has surprises, even a melancholy heart must take on the character’s color. The wedding of the youngest daughter of the house, and after so long, a wedding in the family. We’re already a huge family—with all the siblings and the in-laws of the married siblings, it’s a massive gathering. Grand preparations are underway, will continue for a week. Today, after finishing my 6-9 exam, I’ll join that colorful celebration too. I was there yesterday, will be there tomorrow as well. When you play with colors, some color is bound to get on you. It’s my little sister’s wedding after all—it’s a wedding! And weddings mean floods of joy sweeping through. Whatever the state of the heart, can you avoid being swept along in that current? Getting your reply so early in the morning energized my spirit for the performance. If I hadn’t received an answer, the acting would have become very difficult, just like yesterday. Thank you.
We were supposed to meet on June 8th. Such terrible anxiety about that specific date, so many prayers—that my period wouldn’t come, because that would make staying out long uncomfortable; that no special work would fall on that day; that no guests would come home; that my body would stay healthy; that I’d get permission to go out; that Mother would stay well that day; and so on, and so forth. In the end, every single wish was fulfilled, but alas, caught by one harsh condition, the meeting with him never happened! He hadn’t said anything beforehand. On the morning of our planned meeting, he informed us that for the convenience of his practice after marriage, he would need a fully furnished chamber in Banani, which would cost at least one hundred forty thousand taka. That was his demand. Having studied at the country’s top medical college, he could certainly have such expectations from his prospective bride’s father.
Ha ha ha… such is the way of things.
So many planets revolve around the sun. Yet the sun has no one special.
Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn—each of them has someone special, only the sun has no one. Such is the way of things. The one everyone revolves around is the most alone of all.