Thought: Six Hundred and Eighty
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One. In certain places, there remains a significant difference between humans and women. Whatever may come to a woman’s mind—storms of protest and modernity may rage—still, keeping this in mind while moving forward can often save one from many unnecessary troubles or great dangers.
Two. Listen, girl, there’s no sin in the mobile phone; sin resides in the mind.
Three. You damn poor fellow, you don’t have a good CGPA!
You’re the poorest of the poor, you have nothing but a good CGPA!!
Mr. Chowdhury… it’s nothing, you understand!
I got 2.74 at CUET. Even street dogs shouldn’t count me among anything worthwhile… yet the public of this country has etched my CGPA into the very core of their skulls!
(The haters will say I’m self-promoting. I’ll say, I agree, brother!)
Four. I’m naming this wall: The Gratitude Wall.
Come, brothers, let’s all be grateful together, let’s give thanks.
Whose help proved most useful in getting you through university and graduating? Write their names, tag them, thank them. I’ll start.
Three names always remain in my mind, and always will:
Abu Sayed Mohammad Khan E Alam (In this life, I haven’t tormented any girl as much as I’ve tormented this friend of mine. Let me tell you an incident. It was the day of our sessional exam. Afternoon exam. My roll number was 02040002, Sohel’s was 02040003. All his reports were with me. I had started writing from midnight the night before. I kept writing and writing, the writing just wouldn’t end. I didn’t stay in the hall; I lived at home in the city. Sohel had been calling continuously since 12:00, and I was still writing. When it struck 2:00, I still hadn’t left home. Sohel was a completely pathetic type of gentleman! He called me and said, “Friend, the exam is at 2:30, they’ll call you and me first. It would be good if you made the effort to leave now. I’ll manage the sir, we’ll take the exam last.” Do you know what I said then? My answer was: “Friend, forget it, let’s not take this exam this time, we’ll take it some other time. I haven’t finished writing yet.”… Hearing this, Sohel started cursing with the help of some fricative sounds, and I, quite fearfully, took whatever few things I had managed to finish writing and set off by CNG for CUET… There are many such incidents!)
Supankar
Banik (There isn’t a single exam before which—the night before or even the night a day before—I didn’t go to Supankar’s house. I had my own coaching center. Every day the batch would end around 9:30 PM. After that I’d go to his house and find out what was on the syllabus. Once I knew, I’d realize it was impossible for me to cover all that in a night or two. Then I’d ask Supankar to give me suggestions. He would. Then I’d say, explain these to me. He’d do that too. He never lost his temper. How he managed it, I truly don’t know! If it were me, I’d have slapped the person and thrown them out of the house. He would teach me and study himself. I’d try very hard to convince myself that I was understanding everything Supankar was explaining! Like in math problems when we assume—let the father’s age be x, that sort of thing! Every semester I bothered Supankar this way! I really can’t figure out how he tolerated me day after day! There aren’t many such super-cool people in this world.)
Mahamudul
Hasan (The person from whose paper I ‘edited’ and made my fourth-year final project paper—that shy soul is Rabbi, the Great! Many people know the story of my struggles with that project! If Rabbi hadn’t stood by me, I would have suffered much more! I’ve rarely seen such a wonderful mentality as Rabbi’s. Someone who can face anything without bringing the slightest tension to mind—Rabbi is exactly that kind of person! We studied together at Chittagong College, then when we came to CUET, he went to Electrical Engineering, I went to CSE.)
My sense of self-respect was extremely intense! Supankar and Sohel never, not even for a moment, said anything to belittle me or make me feel small. Yet it would have been very easy to put me down. I didn’t know programming. If anyone needed any class assignment, they’d give it with a smile. (They’d just say, change some sentences inside. Supankar would say…give it. Funny thing, he still addresses me as ‘tumi’!) Because I couldn’t do anything, no one would take me in their group. These two people, for some reason I don’t know, would take me—I’m telling the truth—they’d take me for no reason at all. (Even knowing they’d get no output from me!) Let me mention one more person who had no jealousy or irritation toward me. That’s Om Prakash Chowdhury—among the few people who love me from the heart, he’s one of them…Of course, given my results, there’s nothing about me to be jealous of. Everyone either shows affection or disdain toward the worst student in class. What is there to envy in him anyway?
That boy who doesn’t study, who passes time giving tuitions, who never takes proper class notes, who can’t pass exams, whom nobody inside or outside class gives a damn about, who people find it satisfying to lecture to his face, who always keeps his face small and withdrawn, who shrinks into himself, hides himself away, who even hesitates to approach the teachers’ rooms out of embarrassment, who probably commands less respect than the stray dogs in the campus courtyard, whose friendship one could easily do without…for no reason at all, these two people (along with three or four others) put up with such a boy for more than four years! When everyone else turned their faces away, these two human beings were there for that poor student. They came on their own to stand beside him, scolded and made him sit down to study…at least on the night before exams! This, I suppose, is what friendship truly means, isn’t it?
I love you both. Beyond all logic, I love you and will continue to love you. Without you by my side, passing would have been even more difficult. Stay well, both of you!
There are some others too. I’ll make time to write about them as well.
Thought: Six Hundred Eighty-One
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When you go to the salon, after the haircut is finished, they hold up a mirror behind your head and ask, “Sir, take a look—is the back cut properly?”
I never give any opinion on this matter. I always say, “You check it once yourself. I won’t understand by looking. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
Why do I say that?
There’s a wonderful movie I’ve seen called ‘Shabda’ (Sound). The protagonist’s name is Tarak. Tarak is a sound artist. His job is to create various kinds of sounds for films. He is utterly devoted to his work. Ideas for creating sounds are constantly buzzing in his head. Any new sound that perhaps no one around has noticed cannot escape Tarak’s ears. Never. Each sound is like a precious gem to Tarak. Tarak has always been indifferent to money matters. In the film industry, there’s no one equal to Tarak in the field of sound creation. Detached from many worldly matters, Tarak is somewhat eccentric—as many geniuses tend to be.
One day. As Tarak goes to place his half-finished cup of tea on the table, he starts! What happened! The sound of placing a half-drunk cup of tea on the table is like this! Such a mistake has occurred! Oh no! Now what?
Yes, some days ago Tarak had created sounds for a movie. The movie has even gone into final editing. For a scene in that movie, when creating the sound of placing a teacup on the table, Tarak had created the sound using an empty teacup. But in that scene, the tea-drinking hadn’t finished yet. The sounds of placing an empty teacup and a half-drunk cup on the table are different.
Tarak ran to the director. A mistake has been made. The sound I created isn’t right. The scene is of a half-drunk teacup, but I’ve given it the sound of an empty teacup. I want to create that sound again.
Are you mad, Tarok? The movie work is almost finished! It’s no longer possible to insert that sound now. Drop it! What’s done is done! And besides, no one will even catch that! Has anyone ever thought so subtly? The fact that an empty cup and a half-drunk cup make different sounds—no one even knows that! Nothing will happen. No need to change. That sound will do just fine!
Fine, I accept that. Maybe no one will understand. But I have understood, I know there’s a mistake there. Why should Tarok make this mistake?
…Why should Tarok make this mistake?—one of the finest dialogues I’ve ever heard. What level of confidence and dedication must a person possess to utter such words! Tarok himself knows that such an extremely subtle distinction wouldn’t occur to anyone. He also knows that despite everything, it’s wrong, and even if ten other sound artists would make this mistake, Tarok cannot. Not everyone becomes Tarok, which is precisely why Tarok has been able to become Tarok. Throwing such challenges at oneself, binding oneself to the obligation of perfection, making one’s work flawless in one’s own eyes before anyone else’s, being able to recognize the finest thing—this is something immense. Not everyone can do it; it requires tremendous skill and self-confidence. To reach that point, infinite practice is necessary.
Let me return to the matter of haircuts. Whether there are any flaws in a haircut or not—the person who cut it will understand far more than I could ever grasp even a quarter of. So what matters is whether the work satisfied his own mind. If it has, then there’s nothing for me to see there. I wouldn’t be able to catch any subtle mistakes anyway. And if it happens that he understands there are flaws but, knowing I won’t catch them, he makes me happy and becomes happy himself—then let it be that way! If someone wants to spend their life deceiving themselves, let them! Not everyone will understand the joy of greatness. It also happens that the way the hair was cut might not please me, but doing it better than that isn’t possible for him. In that case, it’s better not to say anything to him and go to a different salon next time. One shouldn’t hurt the feelings of the mediocre.
(I’m at CUET, wandering around, having fun. I’ll expand this writing. Later. For now, just this much.)
Thought: Six hundred and eighty-two
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I’m returning home after listening to James’s concert. I’ve shouted to my heart’s content, jumped to my heart’s content, thrown my hands and feet around to my heart’s content. My voice is hoarse, my body aches, yet I’m so happy! Around me were friends, super cool junior brothers and sisters. I was amazed to see their affection. I had the impression that those who study engineering don’t really give me much attention. I was wrong to think so. I’m no longer unwelcome at my university.
And,
our day ended with James!
Let me share some observations.
A James sings, makes us sing; dances, makes us dance. It’s not simple work. It takes years of dedication to become a James. When he sang fragments of a song’s lines, we roared out the rest. These songs have merged with our blood—we find no peace unless we belt them out. They don’t just merge with blood on their own; first you must shed your own blood for it.
How wildly devoted a fan can become—this cannot be understood unless you see these artists up close (meaning “standing in front of the stage”). Even if he just stands there holding a guitar, or makes sounds like “uya owa repappa rerepappa,” we still love it, we keep belting out the song. For some people, mere presence is enough. A James is before us—this feeling alone brings us joy.
He is professional. One hundred percent professional. He knows what must be done, he knows what must not be done. When to begin, when to stop—he understands perfectly. What to say, how much to say, when to say it—it’s all within his grasp. He knows we love him. He understands that an entire generation has grown up listening to his songs, and another generation is growing up now. What lies ahead, time will tell. Whatever happens, some of his songs will endure to the end. They will! Most likely he knows this himself.
Such greatness enchants us, amazes us. We love to think that we were born in James’s era, that we grew up in it. Just knowing a James will take the stage, we can wait for him and him alone. A James cannot be made without unimaginable labor and perseverance. Along with the habit of giving the finger to some people’s neglect, harsh words, and bitter remarks. In that group are some people whose words we heed, but who really have nothing worth heeding. Think about who they are—you’ll find them, you’ll understand them. Whether there’s anything worth heeding or not, time itself will tell.
To you juniors I say: those who can sing, who can take photographs, who can draw, who can write, or whatever else you can do that your friends cannot—truly, there is no greater treasure, no greater opportunity than this. It’s a gift from God. Honour it! Practice, keep practicing, however difficult it gets, never abandon that gift. You’ll see, one day you too….
Don’t believe it? Look into it—this day that has come to James’s life, perhaps even he himself didn’t think it would come at one time. Even if you don’t become a James, you can still become someone that many will point to and say, “Ah, if only I could be like that!” Some father will tell his child, “Look, you must become like him.”
You’re studying, keep studying; in this world you need a certificate to avoid some troubles and stay alive. But to remain distinct in some people’s eyes during the time you’re alive—for that you need something extra, something no university in the world can give you, something you must achieve for yourself…by causing yourself pain, by continuously enduring blows, by falling in love with your own passion.
Why did I say all this, you ask? The person who can do their beloved work so much better than anyone else can—I love that person, I respect them. Such a person I place on the pedestal of an artist. Become an artist… you can do it. We didn’t come into this world merely to achieve good results.
Thought: Six Hundred Eighty-Three
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:
Auntie, you’ve grown quite old now, yet you’re still cooking, still teaching everyone. Why don’t you take some rest? You’ve been at it for so long! How much more?
:
No, child… until I find someone in this neighborhood who cooks better than I do, I’ll have to keep cooking. Only when I find such a person will your auntie get her holiday!
This was back in 2004. At the time, I was engaged in the noble responsibility of teaching and educating children from all corners of the world! I used to tutor a student near the GEC intersection in Chittagong. His name was Hridoy. His mother cooked extraordinarily well. Of all the home-cooked meals I’ve eaten in this life, Auntie’s cooking was the finest. She had elevated the act of cooking to the realm of art. Hridoy’s house was the only place where I would shamelessly lick clean whatever snacks they offered. Many days I stayed for dinner after finishing the tutoring session. (Hridoy’s house was one of the few places where I ate without being formally invited.) Even when Auntie simply fried some ordinary eggplant for a snack, eating it made me feel that better eggplant fritters were impossible to make.
Auntie had grown old, was often unwell, and had a frail body. Even with that broken-down body, she would do all the household cooking herself, and when she couldn’t manage with her own hands, she would sit on a small stool in the kitchen giving various instructions to Hridoy’s sisters-in-law as they cooked. Whenever there was any celebration in someone’s house in the neighborhood, Auntie’s presence in that kitchen was quite indispensable! If anyone wanted to learn cooking, she would teach with great enthusiasm. Auntie did all this from the heart’s calling, not for any monetary exchange. (In that neighborhood, Hridoy’s family was probably the wealthiest.) Auntie looked upon me as her own son, showering such affection that whenever she cooked something special at home, even if it wasn’t my tutoring day, she would call and ask me to come over. I would go too—I lack the mental strength to ignore the call of selfless love.
Auntie was illiterate. She had never even been to school. Even so, in my eyes, she remains a great artist to this day, and will always remain worthy of such reverence. She deeply loved to cook and to feed her cooking to others. She never grew tired from cooking; people don’t tire from work they love. To cook as well as she knew how, with the confidence she brought to cooking, with the satisfaction she took in teaching others to cook—to do all that, one must be not merely a chef, but an artist. Cooking is one of the greatest arts in the world. Those whose hands create good food—I love them, I respect them.
Consider this: how perfectly must a person perform their work before they can declare, “No one can do this better than I can!” In the moment an artist paints, they feel certain that no one in this world can paint better than they. The instant a photographer clicks their shutter, they believe no one can capture images better than they can. When a poet writes a poem, they sense they are composing the finest verse in the world. As a singer performs, they feel convinced that no greater artist has yet been born into this world… This is what we call binding oneself, throwing down the gauntlet—presenting oneself as the best, perfecting one’s craft, becoming beautiful even in the critic’s eye.
…Such thoughts and their relentless practice—even if they seem like the obsessions of a madman—transform a person into someone entirely different. So different that everyone regards them with respect, and even those who profess to dislike them are compelled to acknowledge inwardly: He is a genius! Those who are truly artists follow certain codes, almost unconsciously. Let me share one for now. For years, they practice their beloved craft a little better each day than the day before. Whatever it takes, they do it! Perhaps they dedicate five more minutes, perhaps they focus a bit more intently, perhaps they push themselves a little harder than yesterday. This happens daily. Every single day… just a little more!
This reminds me of a professor from CUET—Ashfaq Sir from the CSE department. When he taught in class, he carried himself with such confidence and mastery of his subject that attending his lectures was genuinely enjoyable. We could sense that while there might be others who could teach the material as well as he did, there was nothing we desired to learn that lay beyond his capabilities. He never arrived even a minute late to class, presenting complex topics with remarkable ease and fluency. His teaching style, his manner of speaking and looking at us, his personality, his refined behavior—everything was captivating. The concepts he taught were crystal clear in his mind. His quizzes, class tests, and final exam questions were fair, and he graded generously. Truly exceptional teachers don’t need to prove their worth by making questions impossibly difficult or giving students poor marks. Beyond teaching, there are qualities that make educators memorable. Sir was also quite handsome—many girls had crushes on him. I didn’t envy him; I loved him. I cannot envy those who are great; I end up loving them! I nicknamed him: Mister Never-Behind!… Let me mention another professor: Saif Sir. We had him for only a brief time, yet we remember him still. He was the first person whose class made us feel: We can do this too! (I’ll write about the other professors in another piece.)
In any case, returning to the previous paragraph… Through such continuous practice, they eventually become incomparable. So incomparable that they can declare… I know you cannot do this better than I can. You may hate me, you may envy me, you might even remove this inherited head from my shoulders in an instant, but you can never become ‘me.’
They—
You could say it like Shah Rukh Khan: I am the best!
You could throw down the gauntlet like Muhammad Ali: I am the greatest!
You could declare yourself with Ronaldo’s devil-may-care attitude: Your love makes me strong, your hate makes me unstoppable!
You’re thinking, all this arrogance? This pride? You’ve mentally muttered, “Pride goeth before a fall…blah blah blah!” Ask yourself this: the way a Virat Kohli can speak with that damn-care swagger—could you speak like that? What do you have that would justify speaking like that? You deserve not to be arrogant! Let me clarify: what seems like arrogance in them isn’t arrogance at all—it’s self-confidence, or the realization of truth! Because you and I have never encountered anything like that, it sounds like arrogance to us. One who deserves pride need not fall. It’s not pride, but unearned pride that causes downfall! He knows how to keep himself in that best position, day after day.
Let me tell you something—there’s really no such thing as swimming against the current. Each river flows in its own direction. Each person is a river unto themselves. So naturally, one river’s current won’t align with another’s—isn’t that obvious? You’re not swimming against the current; you’re actually flowing with your own current. Because that current is unfamiliar to others, they label it “against the current” and give their brains a holiday. Come, let’s flow with that current! Great rivers have their own currents, which always seem novel, frightening to smaller rivers…sometimes even objectionable. That’s where the fun lies! On roads less traveled, you can run comfortably. On crowded roads, there’s no comfort even in walking!
I’ll close with another gem from Guru Shah Rukh Khan:
Love me or hate me………..but you cannot ignore me.
(I truly know that even those who dislike me, who dismiss me publicly, the honored senior members of the Sushanta-Haters-Club, they too secretly read at least some of my writing, listen to some of my words…visit my wall. I will remain grateful to them until death. Without them, I couldn’t burn myself anew each day. I love leaning toward perfection not so much because I love perfection, but far more to create some discomfort for my esteemed haters—whatever they may say about me, they cannot question the integrity of my work. (They’ll certainly speak ill of me—otherwise they’d be out of a job!)
Let me tell you something, friend! Do you know why they can’t stand you? Because they couldn’t become like you. They tried, but couldn’t. Accept it a little, boss! Don’t kick them—kick yourself, and move forward—every day, bit by bit. They won’t be able to; they’ll remain stuck in that same place…you can be certain and at peace about that!)
Thought: Six hundred eighty-four
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One. As long as life runs on one’s own means, it’s better to live it on one’s own terms. Otherwise, there comes a time when life brings much sorrow. And if one lives on another’s means, then I don’t think there remains anything called ‘one’s own terms’ at all—if it exists at all, it persists merely through brute force, through stubbornness, through shamelessness—like the character Dhrubo in the novel ‘Durbeen’.
Two. Commitment in Business
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Some merchants cheat on price, but don’t cheat on goods. I find them acceptable. So what if they cleverly made extra profit, but they delivered the right product. Perhaps I had little time, little inclination to bargain, I really needed the item or liked it, I found the quality good, the item wasn’t available elsewhere, or I had surplus money so I bought it from them at a premium. Here I too have some responsibility or fault, whatever you may call it. You may keep some extra money from me, but don’t give me inferior goods. I really don’t have time to take that much trouble. Why should I? I didn’t take it from you for free! Since you’ve taken money from me, the responsibility of fulfilling my expectations falls on your shoulders. In this world, only free things have no value. For many years I’ve been buying from fixed-price shops to save time, to avoid hassles. When taking money for providing someone a service, never make a commitment that’s impossible for you to keep. Inform me of your limitations beforehand—this won’t diminish my respect and trust for you. I understand one thing: what matters more than what price you charged is what product or service you gave me.
Some merchants cheat on both price and goods. It seems to me that some people survive even by begging. If those merchants joined their ranks, we consumers would be saved. Business is a very noble work. The work is very difficult—I tried and failed. Just think, you’re supplying a product or service that makes many people’s lives easier. How many can do this work? You’ve got an opportunity to benefit people, and you’re ruining it like this? If you had any self-respect, could you give consumers inferior products or services even after taking fair payment? Shame!
Just five days ago, I bought a power bank from a shop on the fourth floor of the Akhtaruzzaman Center in Chittagong. When I handed the money to my subordinate, I told him repeatedly: bring me something good, whatever the cost. Product quality is what matters to me. He brought back the product, complete with a six-month warranty sticker. After just two days of use, I noticed the power bank wasn’t charging properly. Even after leaving it plugged in all night, it would only charge one bar. When I sent it back to the shop today, the shopkeeper told me I apparently didn’t know how to charge a power bank—that its capacity was too high and my charger’s capacity too low, and so on and so forth. I never use a charger to charge my phone directly; I always use a power bank. Have been for years. Now if someone wants to teach me the simple method of using a power bank, well, that’s the problem! I requested him to take another five hundred taka if necessary, but not to give me second-rate goods. He still insisted the problem was with my charger! We’ve become so crude that we’ve forgotten how to admit our mistakes and say sorry! Don’t these people who bamboozle others and pick their pockets with gibberish feel any shame? What’s the difference between them and common street thugs?
Let me share another incident. For many years now, I’ve often bought books online and also ordered them by phone from various stores. (I have a piece about a bitter experience buying books from the online shop ‘Rokomari,’ which many have probably read.) Last Wednesday, I bought several Kolkata publications from ‘Takshashila,’ ‘Sandhipath,’ and ‘Prothoma’ at Dhaka’s Aziz Super Market. The books were to be sent via Sundarban Courier Service with home delivery payment. I gave my office address as the delivery address. The books were supposed to arrive Thursday morning. They didn’t. And when we called the noble gentlemen, they wouldn’t answer! Around 2:00 PM, I sent my peon to their Agrabad office. The manager informed us that the books would reach their office around 8:30 that night. There was delay due to traffic jams. He also assured us that since the office would be closed Friday and Saturday, they would deliver the books to our office by Sunday morning. Sunday came, the books didn’t. Around 1:30 PM, I sent my peon to their office again. The books had arrived Thursday night itself, but they had simply forgotten to deliver them. The money had gone into their pocket, and they forgot to do the very thing they pocketed the money for! Wonderful! What an example of professionalism! But the uncouthness doesn’t end there! When they found my peon, they said, “Good thing you came, take this carton with you.” When my peon refused, they began to treat him rudely. Note that the carton was extremely heavy, too much for one person to carry. More importantly, why should I have to lug around something I was supposed to receive as a home delivery? Why did they take responsibility by promising home delivery? Don’t these fools understand what ‘home delivery’ means? Or is this how the courier business operates—by harassing customers? Not only did I not receive the service I paid for, but I was told that I had to come and carry away that ‘home delivery’ carton myself! They didn’t fulfill their responsibility, and on top of that, they wanted to force it on us! Bravo! If they can’t do home delivery, why do they take money for it and make commitments? Our misfortune is that we’re held hostage by such irresponsible, uncouth, worthless people! In this unfortunate country, even after paying money, you won’t get the service you deserve.
I say again: feel free to overcharge me if necessary, but don’t cheat me on the product, don’t harass me in the name of service. As a consumer/customer, I deserve at least that much from you. I’m willing to spend extra money to avoid hassles, but I won’t tolerate being cheated. If you can’t provide me with proper goods or services, tell me beforehand so I can make an informed decision. But don’t take my money through trickery and then subject me to unnecessary troubles—please don’t conduct business with such a mentality. Even begging allows one to live with dignity; at least when I give alms to a beggar, I have no expectations in return.
Business is a noble profession. Here, commitment holds the highest value. If that quality is absent in you, then business is not for you. I too was once in business. Sometimes I may have overcharged customers in price, but in terms of product or service… I can say with my hand on my heart and complete honesty—never! Not once in my entire life do I have a record of willfully failing a commitment. For me, commitment is worth more than anything else. What I cannot give you, what I cannot do for you—I will never make such a promise to you as long as I live. It is better to beg for food than to break a commitment. There is no greater fortune than living with respect in others’ eyes. I remember a friend of mine. He used to tell me, “Friend, if everyone in the world were like you, then at least there would be no need for banks to keep money—one could leave their money with someone like you.” This remains one of the finest certificates of my entire life. There is not a single person on earth who is owed even a penny by me. If I were to die this very moment, you would not find a single creditor to curse me. Those who cannot keep commitments should not enter business at all. Money is not something to toy with. Rather than taking money with commitments you cannot keep, it is better to accept that money as charity or aid.
The milkman who charges more but gives pure milk is the better milkman. The milkman who charges less but gives adulterated milk is an object of pity. Just tell your customers upfront that your product or service costs more, but the quality is superior—you will see that your consumers and clients will not decrease, but rather increase. Your product or service is not meant for every class of people. Good things require good money—this is natural. Those who do not have the means to buy such things will purchase from elsewhere, but after buying, no one will curse you. What greater glory is there than conducting business without earning people’s curses?
The happy truth, however, is that many businesspeople are good and maintain their commitments properly. If you know of such businesspeople, please share their names in the comments of this post. We wish to express our gratitude to them. Good people are certainly worthy of respect.
Thought: Six hundred and fifty-five
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One. : My heart burns for you.
: My lips crack from the cold.
(Conversation ended.)
Two. When the head of the family or the earning member (not merely earning-capable) suddenly dies, does it never once occur to the family members: Alas, our milch cow, our burden-bearing donkey has died!
Three. One who has no person to pray for them is truly unfortunate.
We never truly know where in this world someone might be praying for us, keeping us always in their thoughts of goodwill. I have seen it happen—someone praying for another person, wishing that they remain well, that illness never touch them, that they live joyfully with their family and friends, that no sorrow enter their life, that when storms come on their path they may weather them, that being alive feels beautiful to them—and so much more… while that person never knew that someone loved them so deeply every single moment!
But what if they never knew? What difference does it make? Must we always tell someone when we love them? Does love fade away if left unspoken? Perhaps the intensity may lessen, the restlessness might grow pale with time, yet true love endures, survives till the very end. You might even meet that person, speak with them, yet never say—I love you. Does such love have no value? When you fall in love, you can just tell them… can you really? Still, does the one who loves not find joy? When you love someone, prayer for them flows naturally from the heart. And prayer is nothing but intimate conversation between the heart and God. This conversation, this communion, this solitary dwelling greatly amplifies the strength of the human mind. Love is like meditation, like peace, like sanctuary.
As long as we pray, we converse with God. In that conversation, often without our knowing, answers to many questions emerge, many feelings find purification, infinite strength comes to inhabit the mind, new dimensions of life reveal themselves. Those mysteries whose depths we cannot fathom despite a thousand attempts—their simple, clear explanations somehow arrive during prayer. This wondrous journey on the path of joy—there can be no greater blessing.
When artists create, they perhaps weave some beloved person, thought, or being into their minds. This brings great advantage; the work of creation becomes easy and graceful. Every great creation in the world is a harvest of prayer. Think of the person who polishes your shoes to a shine! When he does his work, perhaps his beloved’s face floats in his mind—the one for whom he arranges today’s livelihood. Whenever his mind paints that picture, his work becomes something close to prayer. The quality of work improves, your happiness increases. Along with the shoe’s transformation, your face transforms too. Your joy, your confidence, your beauty touches everyone around you. This new person that has been created—surely it is the contribution of that poor man. Here he becomes an artist. This creative process of art is prayer itself.
Prayer creates accountability in people. The artist’s brush gazes at him, the writer’s pen speaks with him, the singer’s harmonium wants something from him, the barber’s scissors command him, the photographer’s lens makes demands of him… They keep saying: Love me! Don’t be afraid—in this prayer of yours, I am with you. Indeed, every artist falls in love—with the instruments of creation, with their work, with their own artistic being, with their responsibility toward art. From this comes prayer and sincerity.
That is why I say, to live with laughter in your eyes and peace in your heart, you need someone in life for whom prayers flow naturally from within, someone whose very thought makes you want to keep yourself well. Someone you cannot bring yourself to say “I love you” to—yet in every moment of living, that person remains… until the very end… no matter what may come!
Thought: Six hundred eighty-six
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Those who do not wish to live in peace—it is with them that we must live
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There exists a certain type of person who delights in trouble and quarrels. They cannot survive long without fighting, without stirring up complications. Even when those around them do nothing to provoke conflict, they themselves will act in ways that create discord, behaving badly in precisely the manner that breeds anger and strife. If necessary, they will pick a fight over nothing more than a stubbed toe—they simply must. In their personal lexicon, there is no such thing as “living in peace” or “living in comfort.” They search for issues to create trouble at regular intervals. When they find no issue, they manufacture one, sometimes reviving old grievances to keep complications festering. If they cannot break someone else’s head, they break their own, inviting trouble to their doorstep—something along these lines, always! Their peace comes only when they can create substantial chaos. They feel discomfort precisely when they are comfortable. Only after causing harm to someone—anyone, somehow—do they find tranquility. They derive joy from witnessing others’ suffering. This joy is what they seek. For this, they will waste their own time, sometimes investing effort and money to harm others. Their targets are often those who surpass them socially, intellectually, or financially. Sometimes they drag down contemporaries, preventing them from moving forward. A persistent thought haunts them: since they themselves cannot reach certain heights—either through failed attempts or lack of effort—they will not allow others to reach there either. They can hate all successful people without any particular reason. It is as if they were born with an infinite capacity for hatred! They even concoct absurd justifications for their hatred, and love to spend hours tirelessly spreading that hatred among others. They are losers by nature, and they have many friends too. In this world, losers always outnumber the rest.
There is another kind of person who flies into a rage at the slightest provocation, who deliberately inflates trivial matters out of all proportion. They willingly drown themselves in a sea of unbridled, incoherent words and speech. These are actually people of weak character. To mask their own weakness, they resort to shouting and screaming. This is an age-old and infallible technique. Strong people generally possess greater mental capacity than vocal prowess. Therefore, when they witness such uproar from the weak, strong people fall silent and keep their distance. The weak ones then assume this means victory! To preserve such easily won success, they continue down the same path of destruction and chaos in future encounters. They have no objection to keeping themselves incompetent and base in hopes of immediate gain. They can reduce themselves to such a level that they remain there for eternity—a thought that disgusts the mind. They derive a certain pleasure from seeing others fall silent, terrorized and anxious, upon hearing their clamor. If such a person happens to be someone close—someone you cannot abandon yet cannot tolerate—then there is no greater helplessness than having to live in such circumstances. One feels both anger and pity toward them, but there is nothing to do except grit one’s teeth and endure in silence. Perhaps their hands itch if they cannot break something at regular intervals! Since we cannot break their hands in the face of harsh reality, they assume their hands possess far greater strength! Sometimes they sit and think that today, by hook or by crook, they will prove themselves innocent, or else they will shatter and destroy the entire world. To escape the fury of their wrath, everyone lets them win and keeps them pacified. Only those who have suffered know what agony it is to accept this. They believe they are omniscient, their decisions are correct, and all the people of the world are obligated to follow their decisions! They do not follow the principle of “many opinions, many paths.” Their belief: one opinion only, one path only. That opinion is theirs, that path is theirs. Everyone must follow that opinion, that path! Those who do not are bad, and everything about them is wrong. When these sick individuals see that someone is not obeying them, they assume it must certainly be that person’s fault, and they feel that person should be beaten up immediately for this crime—even killed! This is how they think! In their eyes, only they are right, everyone else is wrong. Only they understand everything, the rest just chew grass. They have not an ounce of tolerance for any other viewpoint!
Another utterly terrible thing is suspicion—some people harbor pointless doubts about everything, big and small. Living by suspecting others is their sole occupation. They spend every moment hunting for people’s flaws, seeing snakes in every rope, mistaking sleep for death. If someone clears their throat with a cough, they think there must surely be some ulterior motive behind it. People fear even looking in their direction, wondering what wild thoughts might occur to them! Everyone remains somewhat fearful in their presence, unable to be natural. It’s impossible to move easily with them. One must constantly perform, living with discomfort, unable to feel at ease even in utterly innocent acts. Being around them breeds an unfounded sense of guilt within oneself. They speak negatively about one person to another. If someone is on their list of suspects, they dislike those who speak well of that person. Their closest friendships are with those who, like them, live by finding faults and harboring suspicions. Such people simply assume that everyone in the world would be immoral given the chance. Only they themselves are moral, only their own actions good. In this world, just one tiny fragment of perfect humanity has been created, and that person is themselves. They know how to behave with incredible cruelty. They never see the mark on their own back, only search for marks on others’ backs. They believe others can be deceived in various ways, and that everyone in the world except themselves is some kind of deceiver. Of course, only they know well those methods for deceiving others! They like to forcibly bind people to them. They simply refuse to accept that one cannot actually bind someone by force. Even if one could, it would be impossible for that person to live as a healthy, normal human being. Forcing someone to live day after day with discomfort and suffering like this is a kind of sin. They have no objection to this sin whatsoever! Through tyrannical glances, vile words, arrogant behavior—by creating trouble through any means or by gathering crowds to humiliate others—they are masters. Decent, peaceful people fall into their clutches most often. From fear of losing face and to avoid trouble, everyone submits to them. When speaking with them, even when there’s nothing to lie about, falsehoods slip from one’s lips, and many unnecessary, confused words dance on one’s tongue. Then their suspicions grow even more. This is a terrible disease—both the afflicted and everyone around them suffer from its torment! They perhaps think that binding others is the rule, or that this is how people stay well. And to maintain these bonds, wherever they need to pull strings, whatever tactics they must employ, however much psychological torture they must inflict on their target, and whatever else they must do—they do it all. However low they need to stoop for this, they remain prepared to go that far or further. When necessary, they feel not the slightest pang of conscience about fabricating and spreading lies about others. Some people live by suspecting, while others must live by enduring suspicion. Both types of people are truly very miserable. They often wish to die, but because of certain attachments, they cannot even manage to die!
When these three habits exceed their natural bounds, they can no longer be called normal. They become phobias or disorders. Anything in excess becomes a phobia. When something reaches the level of phobia, it requires healing. This calls for counseling from specialists. As far as I understand, a person with a healthy mind and a person with an unhealthy mind can never coexist harmoniously. If they must live together, either the unhealthy person needs treatment, or the healthy person will inevitably become unwell. Even if someone with a healthy mind wanted to, they cannot avoid all mentally unwell people in the world. Trapped by social pressure, habit, convention, family obligations, and relational duties, no matter how painful it becomes, one simply cannot decide purely according to personal preference—whom I will or will not associate with. One must live on, keeping alive resentment and self-reproach toward one’s own existence. What other choice is there? Two mentally healthy people can live together, or two mentally unhealthy people can coexist, but can a mentally healthy person and a mentally unhealthy person ever truly live together? Is this even possible? Yet many lives somehow survive in such circumstances. Whether from shame before society, to avoid family complications, from some anxiety about what might happen if certain bonds or habits were broken—to ‘ward off uncertainty’—or from a kind of complacency or lethargy that says, “Let it continue, let’s see what happens”—many relationships persist this way. One party continues suffering, the other continues inflicting pain. Everyone sees them laughing, assumes they’re doing well. In truth, they are not well. They cannot share this with anyone, so the pain and suppressed tears only multiply. The relationship between them is not healthy; it survives purely through habit, routine, and fear. The distance they’ve created while living side by side prevents them from being truly well. This is like cancer, growing day after day. This cancer has no chemotherapy, because no one makes much effort toward its cure. Fearing exposure, additional complications, uncertainty about what a new life might bring—thousands of such doubts and hesitations cause two people to carry an uncomfortable relationship with them as they walk hand in hand toward death.