Thought: Five Hundred Eighty-Two
……………………………………………………
1 August 2014
This evening at 6 PM at Batighore, there’s a gathering of book lovers organized under Hillol da’s direction and Dipankar da’s arrangement. Hillol da does this during various vacations—gathering some people together. Brother, you’re great! By book lovers, I don’t mean actual readers, but members of the Facebook book lovers group. Trusting in that, I’m thinking of going too. Those who attend these gatherings, I mean those who were there last time, most of them are truly readers; I’ll go to listen, to learn, to understand. But some are so extreme that they forbid non-readers from even buying books, issuing such hasty fatwas…
4 August 2014
: Brother, why didn’t you write anything yesterday on Friendship Day?
: I’ve decided that if you don’t stop calling me brother, I’ll never write anything at your request again.
Why must every girl in the world make me their big brother?! Is there a shortage of big brothers? There are so many big brothers in every neighborhood! Why me?? Unbearable! Whenever I hear some unknown girl call me big brother, I’m reminded of Anjan Dutt’s song about Ranjana. I’ve never even touched anyone in this life. How am I supposed to break legs?!
In this world,
Alas, whoever I desire,
Has their boyfriend-husband—
The pain of being rejected without even being in love is more intense than the pain of being rejected while in love.
: Hey there, writer saheb, won’t you write something today?
: Why are you abusing me? Have I taken on the responsibility of producing Eid package dramas that when Eid comes, I have to grab people and forcibly tickle them to make them laugh? And why are you abusing me by calling me a writer? What favor have I done you that you must abuse me?
Some friendships harbor hidden hints of love in their demands. I tell them, my dear sister, run while you can. If you can’t flee, tell me, I’ll flee myself! Commitment, expectations… forgive me, and prayers too. I’ll create a lovey-dovey love story with only one person. There’s no divine command that I must fall in love! I’m willing to be a scoundrel if necessary, but hypocrisy? Never, never! The most disgusting abuse in my vocabulary: hypocrite! (Of course, girls like hypocrisy.)
On Friendship Day, you have to write something on Facebook; if you don’t write, people don’t know that you too are capable of producing something. Girls around the world send “Happy Friendship Day” in the inbox. What am I supposed to do with so many friends!! Now I need some girlfriends too. They’ll send grinning emoji in the inbox writing, “Happy Girlfriend Day!”… There are too many friends already. No more. Though if you search Google, no such image files come up. These idiots can’t think outside the box. The days of eating ready-made stuff are ending. God forbid, if such a time comes when you can no longer pass exams with Google! Very worrying indeed!
There’s more agony. These days I see acquaintances wanting to become friends. Pushy friends. Old friends are all becoming mere acquaintances. Sometimes I feel like grabbing them and giving them a swift kick in the rear. When we talk, when we meet, they act so formal. I want to personally lift a manhole cover and shove them down. The bastards have all gone corporate!!
Some friends call me “boss” when they talk. This form of address feels more offensive to my ears than any profanity in the world. A friend should begin conversation with the most impolite, obscene curse words—the kind you can’t say in polite society. Otherwise, what kind of friend is he!
If you can’t unleash them on your friends, what’s the point of learning all those wonderfully vile expletives with such effort!
Friends are gradually becoming bosses, but no bosses are becoming friends. How tragic! We want all the bosses of the world to live happily with their families, in peace. Digesting the bile of a boss’s domestic troubles is truly painful!
We want
no girlfriend in the world to suddenly tell her boyfriend,
“I only thought of you as a friend. Nothing more.”
My earnest advice to boyfriends:
if your girlfriend says anything like this, don’t hesitate—immediately deliver a resounding slap and knock out all her teeth. Please,
don’t leave a single one. Let’s see which noble lover falls for a toothless woman! Girlfriends should do the same. Dear sisters, don’t habitually pull his hair by mistake;
bald men never lack for girlfriends. (I’m wondering,
was it necessary to specify “head” hair! Doesn’t it sound rather redundant?)
For this Friendship Day, I have two wishes: not just friendship,
but some female companionship too. May old friends not be lost.
On some Friendship Day, I had given birth to a little poem. For my Facebook friends, I’m posting it again:
Dream like a dreamer dreams,
Forget all the old pain that seems.
If someone reaches out to hold your hand along the way,
Love them in your own way.
……….Side effects of the status: Even little girls are asking in my inbox: Hi Sushanta! What’s up?
Will women ever develop a sense of humor?
6 August 2014
One of my girlfriends was not secondhand,
so the relationship didn’t last long. I never like firsthand girls. Like ten other Bengali boys, I too want
her first love to be with Rabindranath. I told my girlfriend to fall in love with that old man. She wouldn’t listen. I wanted
my girlfriend’s first lover to be Rabindranath. I don’t want to see the world through the eyes of a beloved who has seen the world only through one man’s eyes. Bengali girlfriends should first belong to Rabindranath, then to their own lovers. Why?
Because this Bengali race has not five basic needs, but six. The last one is Rabindranath. Without this, Bengalis cannot survive. Let one dead girlfriend love another dead lover. The one who is alive
should at least remain alive. Being alive is everything in life! So,
somehow or other,
before death one must live on by dodging and weaving through the gaps. No one dies from not loving;
but they die from not being able to stay alive. What agony it is not to be able to stay alive!
A false day passed today. They’re all saying that Rabindranath died today. Died?
Really? When? What date?
I’ve never seen any other Bengali live so long!
He was born on the 25th of Baishakh. After that he never died. He’s quite alive. Much, much more so than you, me, and everyone else. Can you try living a little like him!
I don’t want anyone to say Rabindranath is gone. That’s why the 22nd of Shravan never comes,
never will come. The 22nd of Shravan is a false day. Rabindranaths never die.
In bookshops I see Rabindranath spread across several shelves. In others’ writings. Rabindranath himself is like a university!
How many, many people stay alive by reading him,
singing him, speaking him, knowing him,
hearing him, understanding him, learning from him,
writing about him!
Can you imagine!
Rabindra-biographers like Prabhatkumar Mukhopadhyay or Prashantkumar Pal are still alive, holding Rabindranath’s hand. Yes, Ranjan Bandyopadhyay is there too. Is there, I mean, alive as a Rabindra-businessman. One can stay alive on this one Rabindranath alone. As a rich man,
or as a beggar. Some people’s youthful, naive fashion is anti-Rabindranath. They grow up to become Sunil-Shakti-Sandipan or become Sunil-Shakti-Sandipan while growing up. Some people’s senile, foolish refuge is Rabindra-business. Only their age increases,
alas! They never grow up. When hands are extended, that old man never sends anyone away empty-handed!
Those of us who are still alive because we haven’t yet died,
we do three things. We are born. We live. We die. Nothing else. Some are born with Rabindranath, live with him,
die with him. The advantage of this is that
when you search for Rabindranath, you also encounter the non-Rabindranaths. This meeting is a most joyous meeting. We can neither become immortal
nor live properly. We earn money in such a way that we don’t get time to spend it, so that after our death someone else will pray for our soul’s peace while spending our money. We run, never stopping the running. We win the rat race by becoming rats, deluded by the hope of living a human life. Even the goats at breeding centers are happier than us, better off than us. They eat,
they defecate, they sing songs to their heart’s content. Most importantly, their job satisfaction is one hundred percent!
(If someone doesn’t understand this, don’t even try to understand it by mistake.) We don’t even have that. For us, Jibanananda had to write, there is no pure job on earth. We die,
and simply die. No 22nd of Shravan comes for us,
no false day comes. Our birth is true; death is even more true,
after death,
almost always before.
Dear Rabindranath, to all these 22nd Shravans, keep showing that old thumb of your old hand this way, and live forever in our hearts.
Thought: Five hundred eighty-three
……………………………………………………
11August 2014
Considering the mental health of Facebook users, strict restrictions should be imposed on fire-like beautiful beauty queens using Facebook. Why does a girl need to be so beautiful? Strange!!
Don’t people have work to do??:'(
Damn the DSLR clan!! God Himself surrenders to DSLR!!
…….. Not always. Some girls are strangely beautiful! That’s not the problem…….
They are millions of times more beautiful than their husbands-boyfriends!!
That’s not the problem either……………
The problem is,
I can’t understand what sorrow is making me upset seeing this.
………..Looking at them, those whom I cannot awaken any sort of brotherly feeling within myself despite a hundred attempts.
11August 2014
Sir, don’t call me a cartoon. I have a daughter.
What’s wrong with cartoons having daughters? Your daughter won’t be a cartoon, God willing! And surely your wife isn’t a cartoon either.
My office staff doesn’t dislike me for three reasons. You don’t have to like the boss. Not disliking the boss is itself a huge thing!
One. I never mistreat them. And I never inflict unnecessary pain. Working at the office until eight every night without any special necessity seems to me one of the world’s most pretentious acts. If you don’t deliberately complicate simple tasks, there’s no reason to stay so late at the office. Some people remind me of two plays: Waiting for Godot. Much Ado About Nothing. They show far more busyness than they actually accomplish. Just watching them is painful. Pure “destiny, destiny” attitude!……… I feel embarrassed asking someone else to carry a bag that I can carry myself. Sometimes I even inquire about their family situations. I try to help as much as possible.
Two. Taking leave from me is the easiest thing in the world. Headaches, hair-aches, heartaches, stomach-aches—I grant leave for any kind of ache. (First, I make sure it won’t disrupt the office work.) When anyone needs leave, they run straight to me instead of going to others. I interrogate less, and I act as if I believe every excuse they give.
Three. I encourage them in their studies. I tell them to take the civil service exams. I tell them to apply for first-class jobs. I give them advice on how to study for employment exams. Even telling someone with a smile, “You can do it”—that simple phrase works like magic. Staff-level people generally aren’t very good students. So they’re used to hearing “you can’t, you can’t.” They become quite happy even with a little guidance. I’ve seen this too: when I’ve asked, “How are your studies going?” they’ve responded like criminals, saying, “Sorry sir, I made a mistake. I’ll start tonight itself.”
There are benefits to this. You get many free prayers. You can get more work done through them. I easily find out what people are saying about me in the office. Their capacity to digest any kind of scolding has increased tremendously compared to before. They also make fewer mistakes at work due to reduced hesitation.
Among them, the most interesting character is Cartoon Saheb. He runs like a cartoon, moves his eyes like a cartoon, sways his body like a cartoon. His face also has something rabbit-like about it. He laughs like a rabbit. Pointed ears, gleaming white and large teeth. His conversations always begin with: “Sir, there’s been a problem…”
Whenever I see him in my room, I start thinking: he’s either brought some problem, or he’s created some problem and brought it along. He’s a master at presenting simple matters as complex! If he were to teach someone the multiplication table of two, he would certainly say, “Good God! How difficult the table of two is!”
The other day he brought mousepads for our office. Each pad has cartoons drawn on it. Tom and Jerry, Captain Planet, ghost pictures, skeletons—that sort of thing. The pad on my desk shows He-Man cutting a mountain in half with a massive sword. Terrifying stuff!
His mobile ringtone: Twinkle Twinkle Little Star……..
A little while ago, he showed up in my room. I began to think,
Only Allah knows what torment this is!
I saw that he had brought along an electrician. He was going to replace the calling bell in my room. Why? My bell rings by itself sometimes. So my orderly often comes running only to find that I haven’t actually called—
the bell has simply rung on its own. The problem this creates is that
sometimes when I do ring the bell, the orderly doesn’t come. He thinks
I haven’t called. I feel like the lying shepherd boy.
Sir, I’ve searched everywhere and brought three beautiful bells for you. I realized this was going badly. What kinds of bells
were they? I saw that when you pressed one, a bird would call. Not a bird’s natural call; the kind of call a bird makes when you squeeze its throat,
that call. Another one made a cat’s call. Press the bell and it says,
Meow! Meow!! I told him,
How can an Assistant Commissioner call his orderly like a cat?
Don’t you have any sense?
What else have you brought? Show me! Sir, forget it, let it be,
I’ll bring a normal one tomorrow.
What’s that one?
Let me see!
No no sir, let it be. Sorry.
My orderly informed me later that it was a snake charmer’s flute!
Terrible business!
I felt like
wrapping a live python around that cartoon character’s neck would bring some peace.
14August 2014
Happiness is…….
coming home
18August 2014
When you go home, two things increase: affection and weight.
Both are bad. Both are troublesome!
The best thing I did in the last three days was re-reading two books from childhood. Maxim Gorky’s My Childhood.
Humayun Azad’s The Scent of Flowers Brings No Sleep.
These two books are as soft and tender as a mother’s hands.
Reading these books, I thought,
Alas! How many pretentious people who claim to be writers whenever the book fair arrives trouble readers with their writing, their published books.
Everyone can write;
that doesn’t mean
everyone must write.
It’s painful to read; very!
The pain of reading,
the pain of wasted time!
Life is short! There’s so much good to see, so much good to read,
so much good to hear!
Reflection: Five hundred eighty-four
……………………………………………………
19August 2014
: It’d be injustice if God made you
a computer engineer as you’d done no justice to your Hons life as a student of
computer science. You’ve saved the face of your varsity as people can’t take
you as an example of its product! Hahaha…….. You’re anything but an
engineer, sorry to say!
: Life’s not about good grades;
thanks God, neither is career. Good for me!! Still, I must say, a good grade
matters in some way or other. How? Well, one of our friends didn’t have a
so-called good grade. So, the job he desired couldn’t accommodate him. Later,
he decided to accommodate job others desired and he did it.
Thanks, Mr Good Grade, you helped
him fail so successfully! To fail successfully is an art! Sometimes, we just
can’t expect failures to be any better!!
20August 2014
I’ll be on a RILO AP official tour
in Seoul, South Korea from 16 to 18 September 2014 as a delegate from Customs
Intelligence, Bangladesh. Any friends there to pay my coffee bill,please?
Dear Sushanta, Nice to hear that you
are coming to Korea. You are finding any of your friends to pay your coffee
bills. I am one of your CUET seniors (’95 EE), a Senior Research Engineer here
at Samsung Electronics Semiconductor R&D, in Korea. Please call me after
coming to Korea at your convenient time to 010-5140-1911. Wish you a memorable
trip to Korea.
……… Good to hear that! I’m
planning to stay in Seoul form 15 to 18 September and come back on the 19th.
Korean Customs made arrangements for our accommodation at Hotel Samjung.
Bhaiya, do you live nearby? I’ll be really happy to meet you in Seoul.
Dear Sushanta, I guess your hotel is
around Gangnam area (south part of Seoul). If it is, then I can go there either
by driving in 40 mins (due to traffic) or by public transportation (bus or
subway) in an hour. 15~18, 19 working days. So, hope to see you in the evening
in any of your convenient day. Let’s see. After coming, please let me know if
you have any contact number or your host…..If you could stay in the weekend,
it could be better for me to travel around with you….Anyway, hope to see you
in Seoul soon.
We can meet every evening. My
session will end early before evening everyday
if you’ve time, bhaiya
This is the address.
604-11Yeoksam-dong, Gangnam-gu,
Seoul, South Korea
Dear Sushanta, is it your hotel
address? or RILO AP venue?
Hotel Address
20August 2014
An inbox message from a girl upon hearing about my South Korea trip: Brother, could you kindly bring me a packet of ginseng chocolate? I really need it. Whatever it costs, I’ll pay you back later.
Feeling…… I’m
having fun!
………..I’m curious to know how you’ll pay the price!
So am I!!!
21August 2014
One particularly irritating thing for a single person is having to solve other people’s romantic complications. Many people seem to think I keep close tabs on matters of the heart, so all heartbreak or heart-mending issues can be openly shared with me. Let me share two recent incidents.
One.
Bhaiya, can you give me some advice?
What advice?
Tell me.
My boyfriend is picking fights with me for no reason at all. He won’t answer my calls. What should I do?
Call him and tell him to answer the phone.
But bhaiya,
he’s not answering!
Then keep munching on puffed rice. Puffed rice is a good thing.
Why are you being like this, bhaiya?
I’m really stressed and you’re being cruel to me.
Ugh! Your boyfriend will pick fights with you—who else is he going to fight with?
Don’t bother me. Get out of here.
Bhaiya, please try to understand. He’s
a big fan of yours. Could you please just tell him something?
If he answers my call just once, I’ll manage everything. Please bhaiya, please!
I can’t go around counseling anyone. If needed, I’ll block both of you. You’re both equally annoying! But I can give you one piece of advice.
Bhaiya, what is it?
Tell me, tell me!
Here’s what you do—
leave him and come to me. I never pick fights with anyone, not even guys, let alone girls. Come over,
you’ll be happy for sure.
Bhaiya, I’m done talking to you. It’s better to listen to Rabindra Sangeet than talk to you. You’re a complete fraud!
Unbearable!!
No problem,
you’ll get used to it gradually. Come over,
what do you say?
Never in my life. Not just me—no one will come. You eat your puffed rice!
Two.
Bhaiya, would you kindly do me a favor?
What? Tell me.
I can’t say it here,
can I call you, please?
No, I’m busy now. Send a text after evening. I’ll let you know if I’m free.
(A call came in the evening. A voice cute and mewing like a kitten.)
Bhaiya, assalamalaikum. I’m
…….। How are you? I messaged you at noon. Do you remember me? Hehe…..
There’s nothing to giggle about. Go on, what do you want to say.
Brother, why are you speaking so harshly? Should I call you later? Are you busy?
Alright, go ahead.
I need some ideas about a gift. A gift for a guy. You used to have a gift shop, right? Brother, please help me out a little!
Cut the drama. What kind of idea?
Tomorrow is my best friend’s birthday. Brother, he’s not my boyfriend, I absolutely promise! But I really like him. What should I give? I can’t think of anything. What would you give if he were your friend?
If he were my friend, I wouldn’t give him anything. But I’d squeeze a party out of him. Just that! However, you could give him a good book. Should I suggest some book titles?
Brother, he doesn’t read books! If I give him a book, he’ll think I’m being cheap to save money. I’m not stingy, you know.
Oh! He doesn’t read books? Okay, fine. He does wear lungis though. Give him a lungi. Along with an undershirt. A white sleeveless undershirt. You’ll remember, right? A lungi and an undershirt.
Brother, why do you do this? Please be a little serious! Fine, I’ll buy you chips. I promise, brother. Now tell me. I’m not asking for free counseling here. Don’t you counsel people about BCS exams? Please help me out a little, brother. Please please please!!
Listen, this is the best gift for guys. And it’s uncommon too. No one else will give this. You could try it. And here’s a good idea—throw in a towel too. Buy a good brand lungi, buy a cotton undershirt, and pick out a nice towel. Get a bigger towel so he can wrap it around himself when coming out of the bathroom after a shower. Get it?
Brother, do you know that you’re really awful? I have no idea about gifts for guys, that’s why I called. And you’re just… Would it hurt to help a little?
Hey, you silly girl! Just try giving those! Ask him to pose in them when cutting the cake. If he wraps the towel around his neck, he’ll look really cool. Tell him to upload it on Facebook. You’ll see how many likes he gets. You give one too. Comment: “Looking damn cool, dude!” He’ll go from being your best friend to boyfriend. Absolutely sure!
Forget it, I get it—I don’t need your ideas. He’s not like you, he doesn’t wear those things. You’re the one who sits around wearing those. Taking selfies, uploading them—it would suit you perfectly! He’s very cute, not a buffalo like you! I’m cursing you from the bottom of my heart. Nothing will ever work out in your life either……. Saying this, she hung up with a growl.
I began praying silently……… Oh God! If you care at all, grant me a long life. Otherwise, how many happy homes will be destroyed before they’re even built! Who will give them hope? Who will give them assurance?
Reflection: Five Hundred Fifty-Five
……………………………………………………
23August 2014
feeling Oops! I did it again!!
………………………………………
………………………………………
Wanna get introduced with me? But,
why? Do you always get introduced with whomever you help?
No no, not all, with beautiful girls
only. I feel like getting introduced with beautiful girls, honestly speaking!
Oh I mustn’t forget to mention…… Thank you for being pretty!!
I’ve a boyfriend.
Did I tell you I’ve no girlfriends?
Anyway, if you think you’re not beautiful it’s OK.
Shut up! Do you think that you’re
always smarter than all the ladies you meet?
Not all, pretty ones only!! Beauty
and brain mustn’t have friendship!
This means, you do! Poor thinking!!!
Not always I do, some stupid ladies
do. By the way, you don’t wanna get introduced? OK fine, thank you for your
honesty!
You mean, I’m stupid, huh? And, I’m
not beautiful? You’re too pathetic!!
A stupid lady mustn’t know she’s
stupid! You know, so you’re not! As you’re not, I’m now a little bit confused
about your second confusion!
Enough!! Mr Impossible, it’s enough!
You deserve to be only with yourself! Goodbye! One request…… Please don’t
share it on Facebook.
I’m so commercial in two cases…..
My academic studies & my writings!
But, you don’t write as it is!
Because not always it’s that much
fictional!
Still, please don’t!! Goodbye!!!
( I couldn’t continue more…….)
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I still like that girl’s honesty as,
to her, a goodbye meant a goodbye! God bless her boyfriend!
PS, I love lovely ladies even when
they block!
………..Yes, now it’s 69!
I meant the number of likes!!!! God
bless your dirty mind!!!!
23August 2014
After gifting a beloved book to someone in the realm of images and poetry before and after death, the girl gave our friend a comfortable lungi as a gift. The girl has good taste.
The book was cheap;
not Ananda’s,
but Bibhas’s. But the lungi was expensive,
Shah brand.
Dear friend,
If this incident bears any resemblance to my thoughts,
it is purely coincidental.
By the way,
it would be best to take this status as mere gossip.
………My friend just informed me over the phone that the girl didn’t give the complimentary handkerchief that came free with the lungi, because apparently giving a handkerchief ruins relationships.
24August 2014
In college and university dormitories, there’s a certain breed of sparrows who are masters at occupying bathrooms!
They’ll stand in front of the basin to shave,
and leave their lungi,
towel, and soap case in the bathroom so that when someone else comes, they stand there gaping,
waiting for when His Lordship’s shave will be finished,
and then he’ll take his bath!
Another class of fools can be found who, when going to defecate in the toilet, leave their lungi, towel,
and soap case in the bathroom. The gentlemen will relieve themselves, while the rest stand around waiting for when he’ll mercifully stop his bowel movements and finish bathing. A mullah’s reach extends to the mosque, and a fool’s reach extends to the bathroom. Occupying bathrooms in the style of occupying dormitories! Utterly irritating!!
Earlier, out of bashfulness, I used to wait around for when these gentlemen would complete their royal duties. Then I devised two strategies. Both strategies work quite well. One. I remove their belongings from the bathroom and start bathing
(sometimes I feel like throwing the lungi and towel out through the bathroom window. One day I’ll actually do it.) Two. Even if other bathrooms are empty, I deliberately choose the bathroom where their things are kept, enter it, and start bathing in my own way, trying to bathe for as long as possible,
so that their work gets delayed.
Alas! Another class of creatively shameless fools leave specimens of their creativity on the commode!
I once saw written on a toilet door in a Dhaka University dormitory: O wise one! After defecating, pour water!!
Some people have no shame!!
26August 2014
Many things fall to others’ lot that don’t fall to mine. There’s no point grieving over this. Because what has fallen to my lot perhaps hasn’t fallen to others’.
~ Nirendranath Chakraborty
Life will cheat you somewhat,
you too will cheat somewhat,
Some will fall to your enjoyment,
the rest will remain for others’.
~ Rabindranath Tagore
What has happened, happened for good; what is happening, is happening for good;
what will happen, will happen for good alone.
~ Gita
The best life philosophy I’ve ever
learnt………..
Que sera, sera: Whatever was, was;
whatever is, is; whatever will be, will be.
And, let me conclude by Robert
Frost……
In three words I can sum up
everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.
………I do mind plagiarizing, but
I don’t mind sharing.
……….Life’s not about
deserving, it’s about earning.
5 September 2014
Blazing sun. Heavy rain. The bike’s racing at ninety. Over the Lalon Shah Bridge. The Hardinge Bridge right alongside. A train passing by. Music playing on the phone……. tu shayar hai……
Thank you, God, for my last
birthday! Life’s so beautiful! No regrets if I die right now! (more later when
I’m home……)
5 September 2014
I’m sitting on a mound beside the railway tracks of Hardinge Bridge, taking pictures with all sorts of poses, when a cow appears from nowhere and swishes its tail at me with such attitude before walking away.
What the hell was that? Hey, you idiot! How dare you?!
Do you know who I am? I’m an Assistant Commissioner of Customs, no less?!
Do you understand anything about the ways of the world?
Nobody can see the boundless joy of bachelors, you fool! Not even cows!
Reflection: Five hundred and eighty-six
……………………………………………………
5 September 2014
At Chalan Beel. Here, the late afternoon sun plays across the slippery backs of waves. The waves of the beel are such that unless you’ve seen them, it’s hard to imagine. The blue of the sky merges with the color of water into one. The people in boats become blue beings, floating and drifting until they disappear near the distant gray-green trees. The peace of dipping one’s feet in this water seems to cure all the ailments of the world! Here, every so often, the sorrow gathered in the clouds falls as rain. Perhaps even God’s lens can’t capture this otherworldly beauty!
Yet the camera’s childish attempts don’t cease. Click! Click!!
The area isn’t safe in the evening. So we must return. I had wished to be moonstruck on this Bhadra full moon night. To watch how the vast body of water slowly becomes a silver platter, competing with the fluttering green fields beside it.
It wasn’t to be! I had only wished for this twilight moment to pause.
Alas! Like all the beauties of the world, it too turned away. It appears like that restless woman of light and shadow, who awakens all desires of union only to suddenly turn her face away. Strange, inexplicable love of mystery!
5 September 2014
Sometimes childhood returns again and again. In childhood, father would take me to the rooftop to show me the stars. I had learned those stars back then, but when I forgot them again, I can no longer remember. How many things slip away like those lost days, playing hide and seek before vanishing!
Four tracks played in succession on the Xperia resting on my chest.
The hour for reading poetry has come…….
On that star-filled night…….
At day’s end, to the land of sleep…….
When time simply refuses to pass…
I lie here in the middle of the vast field of Pabna Edward College. Beneath me, damp grass. Above, the moon’s sweet game of hide-and-seek with the clouds. In the cool breeze floats that ancient, faithful solitude of a thousand years. The stars, twinkling softly, promise to touch me as they descend closer and closer. They come so near—near enough that forgetting them would hurt. The refrains of songs forgotten in better days with lovers who let go or left now scramble my thoughts once more, scolding me for spoiling this golden, melancholy evening… No one has ever taught me what Father taught with such simple ease. What harm was there in forgetting?
All of this gets exhausted in the writing… Oh moon, hold onto your moonlight… Now it plays… Why doesn’t the moon come to my room…
Ugh!! I had wanted a beautiful life, not this unbearably beautiful life of this evening! Day by day I’m forgetting how to become accustomed to beauty! Unbearable! Everything is unbearable!
6 September 2014
On a bike toward Natore… in search of Bonolota
You think on a bike in search of Bonolota? Ha! Even Jibanananda wouldn’t have walked 70 kilometers across the world’s paths hoping to find peace with Bonolota. In this sun, love’s camphor evaporates!
…Would you like some sweet cheese balls, sir… They are quite exquisite…
…I ate them, I consumed them!
…Don’t go empty-handed… Bonolota’s beautiful granddaughter is home today! Take an iPhone 6 as a gift!… God disappoints no one in this month of Bhadra!!
…I named her Forest Maiden when I first saw her…
6 September 2014
After quite the colorful spectacle at Natore Palace, stuffed with food, heading toward Uttara Ganabhaban…
Brilliant weather! What else is there in life! Just living it up with a bit of flair!
Those who wish to do antique-flavored, flamboyant photo shoots may come to this palace and dance and frolic to their hearts’ content.
6 September 2014
Remember in the movie Anindita, when Hemanta sings “At day’s end in the land of sleep” and Mousumi walks along the riverbank with that enchanting gaze? Just to be overwhelmed by that strange, wonderful feeling, to watch the childlike innocence of that gentle-faced heroine after boarding the train—that’s why one watches Ballad of a Soldier again and again. Just thinking of a girl with such a sweet face makes the heart laugh spontaneously, laugh and keep laughing. Seeing Mousumi made me listen to that song from Anindita a couple of times on YouTube, and I realized the magic of this song lies in Hemanta’s singing. The evening mooring of boats by the river, fishermen returning home, the innocent playfulness of calves following their mothers—all of this makes the song so enchanting that listening to it seems to drain all restlessness and anxiety from the mind, bringing it down to a completely peaceful, serene level.
I had seen such a scene in my friend Shoeb’s cover photo. A homecoming scene by the Padma at dusk. At that very moment I called him and learned that the riverbank was right near his home. That’s when I decided I would come to Pabna, even if only to spend one evening in the proximity of the Padma.
Leaving behind the mysterious foliage of Uttara Ganaghaban and the ‘forest vines of Natore,’ the graceful feminine sculptures, the exquisite architecture, the warmth of younger brother Kefayat—abandoning all of this, I am racing on my bike toward the Padma, cutting through the fierce yet cool wind to touch my dream-vision. In the shade of mango trees lining both sides of the road, the soft afternoon sun grows even softer, stirring such shivers through my entire body and soul with its gentle touch, as if……
Overwhelmed with joy at the thought of crossing off one item from life’s list of ‘so-much-still-left-to-see,’ I race onward singing at the top of my lungs, racing the wind……
10September 2014
There are many Bangladeshi film songs that feel wonderful when you hear them after a long time….. I just heard one:
In this world of stone, a heart of glass,
Let it break if it will, I fear it not……. It feels marvelous when old pleasures return through songs!
Tell me about a couple of your favorite Bangladeshi film songs?
Here are some I offer:
Much rain fell when you came
After much devotion I won your heart
My cherished myna bird breaks its bonds and flies away
With those twinkling stars in the sky I’ll speak my words
The days of fire will end someday
Tonight I’ll stay awake all night
Evening comes again
Again we two have met
In my bullock cart
The first day I heard song from my father’s lips
In the middle of my chest, where the mind dwells, where the heart resides
No one’s life is as happy as mine
In the sky of my mind today the evening star burns bright
Devour my entire body, O earth
I am here, I shall remain
If one day I do not see you
For whom shall I keep watching the road
I am but a beggar for your love
I who am imprisoned in darkness
I am like a tuberose flower
When you see that face in the mirror
With gestures and whistles
How shall I break this cage
Why does this life change colors so
Upon this earth how many flowers bloom and fall
I gave you this heart of mine
Once there was a golden daughter
One day there will be respite, I’ll journey far away
One day, a day of dreams
What golden light you’ve filled life with
Now is the time for love
Here the two of us, in solitude
There in the far, far distance
O my life companion, take
this life away with you
O my friend
O bird,
your anguish
There where shells bloom on the seashore
O blue ocean, give me… give me release
How deeply I have loved you
Speak or do not speak
What you were to me, tell me not
In this
songbook, writing musical notation
I will not compare you to the moon
Send letters every day
Chumki walks alone on the path
Life’s story—
little remains
Today you have given your word
You are such a one to me
How well I know you—
don’t you know that?
You are my life, I am your life
You are my life companion through birth after birth
You are the person of my heart within my very heart
Because you will come, because you will love
You came the day before yesterday—
why didn’t you come yesterday?
When do you come and stand there without my knowing
Have you ever seen
life’s defeat?
You are the thought of my life,
joy’s swing in my heart
You who are my poem,
the melody of my flute
In your nest of happiness, do not seek me, friend
Your heart and mine were joined together as one
Dressing you up like a doll
Dance, my myna bird, you’ll get your coin
Beneath the blue sky I walk alone on the road
My eyelids do not fall
O bird,
when you’re far away nothing feels right to me
A glass heart in a world of stone
This tar-paved road I have loved
The world is but a dwelling for two days
If there is anything called happiness in this world
Love in life, love in death, living and dying in love
That love is named sorrow — I hadn’t understood this before
The bee comes to the flower’s ear and whispers secrets
I never checked the price in the marketplace
Father said as he left, never sing again
Master, I am but a signature
This night of mine is abstract
My advocate is present
Jochna, the river-gypsy’s daughter, has given me her word
I am well,
stay well
However vast love may be, life is never that vast
The cage has broken
In my heart the lamp of love burns
If you dress as a bride, you’ll look even more beautiful
With one who knows nothing of love’s sentiment
That love which descends from heaven and remains immortal in life
Don’t go, companion
Dreams of a hundred lifetimes
Listen, O beautiful beloved
I shall ferry all my friends across, each for their fare
Some sweet breeze from the ocean’s shore
On the ocean beach, someone from afar
You are my companion in life,
you are my companion in death
Be happy, O my beloved
Why didn’t she come
In golden meadows,
in the humming of bees
Let there be more disgrace if there must be — I no longer belong to anyone
Reflection: Five hundred and twenty-seven
……………………………………………………
10September 2014
I’ve been transferred to Chittagong.
Almost every day, while brushing my teeth in the morning or just before or after, a song enters my head and keeps playing, keeps playing. If it doesn’t enter at that time, it enters at some other time of day. Why it enters, how it enters, where these songs even come from — I have no explanation for any of this. What else besides song can envelop one so intimately?
This morning, as I got into the office car, this entered my head from the movie Shapmochan: “Listen friend, listen, the tale of this lifeless city… in brick ribs, in iron cages, terrible heartache. Here there is no sky, here there is no air, here in the hell of blind alleys, the yearning for freedom.”
Once it entered, it began to reign. Songs like this are the eternal rivals of the busy city. Nothing else can rule over me as completely as song does. Each day a different song covers me entirely.
I was thinking,
this is the very Dhaka that Hemant is singing about. I was thinking, the life I wanted to live—
neither I nor my life exists in that form anymore. Living without regret still hasn’t come to pass. I kept feeling that
this merciless defeat of life at the hands of livelihood is gradually wearing me down. I will leave this busy city behind. When has clamor ever given anything worthwhile?
Lost in these thoughts, I arrived at the office. Upon arrival, I discovered that my Dhaka posting had been changed. I had been transferred to Chittagong. To the regional office of Customs Intelligence in Chittagong.
I don’t believe in the supernatural. The song had come to my mind from thin air. Why it didn’t dissolve into that same air—that’s something Misir Ali would know.
The date of the Chicago World Parliament of Religions was September 11th. The Vivekananda Education and Cultural Council observes this day every year. They will do so tomorrow as well. Besides this, tomorrow they have the convocation of a batch of residential students from their Vivekananda Student Hostel and the reception for new students. I have been officially invited as the keynote speaker for the entire program. They believe that my words will help shape their students’ careers, that they will find inspiration to move forward. That’s what’s written in the copy of the letter given to me by the office. I was thinking, how much does one really receive in a single lifetime?
“Though I am unworthy and lowly, you have not given me any less. What you have given, thinking me undeserving, you have not taken anything away either.” This verse kept circling in my mind. I’m going there on my DG sir’s instructions. I’m going for another reason as well:
just as old age cannot be confined within the frame of years, Vivekananda cannot be confined within the frame of religion. My elementary lessons in philosophy came from Vivekananda himself. Ma, thank you for introducing me to this great philosopher in my childhood.
I’m taking the night bus to Chittagong. No, that’s wrong. I’m coming to Chittagong by night bus. Why did I put it that way?
I’m leaving for Korea this coming Sunday. If everything goes well, I should return Friday. Then I’m supposed to join in Chittagong on Sunday. Until the next transfer, I won’t have to call going anywhere outside my city a “return.”
11September 2014
The vehicle departed. Attachment deepened.
I’ve left Dhaka before;
after staying there for two years. It wasn’t like this then. It is now. Yet now I’m leaving after staying only 5-6
months. This feeling of sadness is strange in nature. Perhaps during those first two years, I read books. I wasn’t working then,
just doing my MBA. These past few months, I’ve been reading people. The pain of reading people is greater than the pain of reading books. I’m feeling a kind of wistful attachment to Dhaka. I was truly amazed to see that
this evening, after seeing news of my departure from Dhaka on Facebook, many people who wish me well called to express their sadness. My inbox filled up with melancholy little messages. Three people came to see me at my hostel after evening. The constable who used to be on duty with me—this afternoon, after my office car left, I turned back to see him pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his eyes. The responsibility of bearing the pain of love is a heavy burden indeed!
I am not worthy of even a particle of this love. Human love makes me far too guilty. This guilt is greater than death itself. As far as I can remember, I have never done anyone such a favor that they should have to harm me so greatly. Generally, acquaintances call me an ’emotional fool.’ Love teaches one to love with terrible cruelty. Lately, for fear of this excess of love, I am terribly afraid to give even a little bit of love to anyone.
After reading Bibhuti’s Aranyak, the tenderness I felt for the people in that novel—exactly that kind of tenderness is happening now. Just like in Jibanananda’s poetry, small clusters of happiness touched from very close have been surrounding me in this city for so long with supreme affection. I feel as though
I am leaving something behind,
I am leaving something behind…..
11September 2014
I had gone shopping. I was choosing a suit when my eyes and mind got stuck on a little one. A bright-eyed divine child with blue-blue eyes. Silky hair tied in a topknot. Smiling, chubby cheeks. A plump little body covered in a bright red dress. She walks like a doll on tiny feet. Every now and then she becomes very happy, starts clapping while swaying her head back and forth. I’ve always been able to bond very easily with children. They think of me as one of their own. They think I’m like them. They don’t take the trouble to think it through. Only children can tell the most powerful person in the world “you stink” right to their face. I knelt down and quickly bonded with her. I started speaking in her half-formed words. I was pulling her cheeks affectionately and thinking, where is her mother?
How many lifetimes of spiritual practice would it take to become the husband of such a child’s mother!
It was absolutely necessary to see the mother of such a bright, flower-like child. Who knows what celestial being had brought her here by the hand! The sight of a beautiful woman is also supreme joy. I kept searching for her mother throughout the entire floor of Westex. I was playing with her, and sometimes she would cover her face with the back of her little hand and burst into giggles, and sometimes she would laugh mischievously. It was such a delightful scene.
At that moment her father came. The gentleman was about my age. With a cheerful face, making his eyes dance behind golden frames, he said,
Sweetie! Did you sing Twinkle Twinkle for uncle?
In conversation I learned that he works at a bank. The girl’s name is Piu. Her mother had decided on this name even before her birth. The lady had somehow known that
after this divine child was born, God would not give her another chance to name her.
It wasn’t possible for me to talk with the gentleman much longer. This emotional fool doesn’t have that much mental strength. While going down in the lift, I deleted all her pictures. Neither I nor my phone has enough space to keep pictures of one who never got the chance to call anyone mother.
I’ll go again tomorrow. Life can’t run on emotion alone. I need to buy that suit I liked.
Thought: Five hundred and eighty-eight
……………………………………………………
14September 2014
feeling ecstatic with the joy of freedom from phone torture
I’m leaving for Korea tonight at 11:55. Will return Friday. During this time, anyone who wishes can reach me via Facebook, Viber, WhatsApp, or Skype.
It’s really cool to be out of mobile network and be just with yourself! The wonderful fortune of not having to receive phone calls doesn’t come around all the time.
………Go to Korea and post a few statuses in Korean.
Will mere showing off suffice?? I had grander plans of composing music in Korean.
It’s a training program. I just hate receiving calls, you’ve no idea.
15September 2014
At airports outside the country, whenever I spot someone with Bengali features, hope surges—perhaps I’ve found someone to speak Bengali with! Oh! How long it’s been since I spoke Bengali! These past few hours I haven’t seen a soul to speak Bengali with. Finally, I think I’ve found one! Such joy! Only to discover later that they’re actually a non-Bengali Indian with Bengali features. A child feels anxious even in the world’s safest places once away from mother’s lap. In developed countries beyond Bangladesh, there are so many conveniences! Security, higher income, improved lifestyle. Yet, so much is still missing. Like this—you can’t find anyone to speak Bengali with. Those you can manage conversations with in broken English, however decent they may be, never feel like your own. The healthiest foods here don’t even pass in comparison to my country’s unhealthy fare. Here, no one knows me. Until I set foot on foreign soil, I thought not being known by anyone was wonderful! I could stare at any beautiful woman as long as I pleased. But it’s not like that at all. Having more people around who feel like your own, rather than just good people, brings far more happiness. I discovered what terrible discomfort this restless yearning to speak Bengali creates. The Language Movement of ’52 didn’t happen for nothing. During a 3-hour transit at Singapore’s Changi Airport, the pulse of life I witnessed throughout the terminal left no impression on my mind whatsoever. I spent those 3 hours searching for Bengalis. Sitting at the foot massager to ease my fatigue, watching the entire airport through the large glass walls, all I could think was: Dhaka Airport, Dhaka Airport. Looking toward the runway side, it doesn’t even feel like I’m outside the country—or rather, imagining it that way brings such comfort. When you’re abroad, there’s no such thing as ‘my city.’ Even Dhaka, therefore, easily comes to mind with fondness.
The courtesy of people outside Bangladesh is quite striking. Sorry, thank you, excuse me—how many times they say these words! Their body language is equally impressive. I find myself thinking I shouldn’t talk to them. I’ve never learned to be polite with such finesse! They are well-organized. When I reached Seoul, I didn’t see anything out of place anywhere in the airport. They know how to wait in line. If you come later and stand ahead of someone, they won’t say anything to you. Perhaps this very discomfort prevents anyone from cutting in line like that. Our discomfort at not showing courtesy is less than theirs. No one came to receive me at Incheon Airport. This turned out to be advantageous. Figuring things out on your own is the most joyful. I used to think I spoke English quite well! Today I realized how wrong that was! Even if you beat me with a stick, English won’t come out of my stomach. And when I see that even when I speak broken English, they respond with smiles, as if they don’t mind at all, continuing to speak in that manner—then I think, what torture! Well, I’ve fallen into the hands of good, kind people! However, when abroad, one difference in thinking between them and us saves us from the danger of poor English. That is: we learn English to get jobs, while they learn English to communicate properly. Since English is something we keep arranged on a shelf, we worry a lot about who said what wrong and how much. Their focus is more on getting the job done. They don’t think about whether the cat is black or white. They think about whether the cat caught the mouse.
I liked another thing about them. They never complicate simple things, which we do. Let me give an example. Today at Incheon Airport during immigration, I mistakenly stood in the diplomats’ line. In our country, the immigration officer would probably have sent me back to the line where I was supposed to stand. But he didn’t do that—he helped me. Yes, they help, something ordinary people do more of in our country. In their country, you don’t have to be an ordinary person to help someone else. Here, no one breaks traffic laws with the fragility of glass bangles. On roads where you’re supposed to go at a certain speed, cars move at that speed. Those of us who work in customs, when we check passengers at the airport and find nothing, we start making a fuss—the same person, when subjected to much more thorough customs checking at a foreign airport, doesn’t make even a peep. In our country, when a customs officer checks a passenger and finds nothing, they say sorry; in their country, after the checking is done, the passenger says thank you and leaves. An airport introduces a country in this way.
As soon as I entered my hotel room today, I found the phone ringing. Strange, isn’t it?
When I picked up, it was Rakib Bhai calling. After so long, hearing someone’s voice in Bengali left me far more delighted than surprised. He knew I was coming.
He had already spoken to the cheerful-faced girl at the hotel reception, asking her to call him when I arrived. Foreigners take such requests with great enthusiasm. They love creating these delightful moments. They genuinely enjoy surprising people. From my conversation with Bhai, I realized that in this foreign land, three kinds of people feel closest to the heart: someone from Bangladesh, someone who speaks Bengali, and anyone from the same university. Rakib Bhai also studied at CUET. He’s my senior. Now he works at Samsung. We talked about what I should buy,
where I should visit,
which CUET alumni he could introduce me to.
In this brief sojourn in distant exile, his affectionate voice inquiring about me in this city,
the feeling that I’m not among the nobodies,
that someone cares—all of this gave me tremendous courage.
I wanted to write more. I can’t anymore. With drowsy eyes, how much more can one write! It’s 1:25 AM here now. The exhaustion of the entire day has left my whole body drained, and I’m desperately sleepy. The seminar begins tomorrow. Going to sleep now. Good night.
P.S. I was impressed by the warmth of Singapore Airlines’ beautiful cabin crew. Nothing seems to irritate them. This is perhaps the one place where men feel no discomfort whatsoever in troubling beautiful women. How do people endure so much trouble with such smiling faces!
I would rank this job among the most demanding ones.