Reflection: Three hundred nine.
……………………………………..
One.
I used to see a homeopathic doctor. Almost everyone in our household took treatment from him. He was quite good as a doctor. He had a good reputation in the area. I myself had received some real benefits. I patiently took his medicines for nearly two straight years. He was older than my father, so I called him Uncle. Such an elderly man, and a doctor at that, so when he asked me questions about physical matters, though I felt embarrassed at first, later I didn’t mind. Suddenly I began to notice some changes in him. He would print out my Facebook photos and bring them, call me during lunch time wanting to chat, but after I said hi and hello, I couldn’t find anything more to say, so I would hang up myself. Still he kept calling; I wouldn’t answer. Though he never said anything inappropriate over the phone. One day he wanted to take me to buy medicine. He said this particular medicine had fake versions circulating, the real one was hard to find, and if I bought it without knowing how to identify it, the shopkeeper would cheat me, so he would buy it for me from a shop he knew. For some reason that day I slipped past him and left.
Another day, showing me a newspaper clipping, he told me a terrifying story about breast cancer and instilled fear in my mind. To prevent breast cancer, he advised me to watch blue films. I couldn’t tell this to anyone at home, couldn’t share it with any of my friends either. He told me that watching such things supposedly releases certain hormones from inside the body, which prevents breast cancer. This itself was medicine, he said. Because I trusted him so much, without telling anyone, I secretly began watching those things following his advice. When he met me, he would ask whether I was watching them, how I felt after watching, and so on and so forth. I would skillfully evade the questions. When I went to his chamber, in the way he took my blood pressure, in the manner he placed the stethoscope on my chest and back, I sensed he was trying to touch my body. But since I didn’t really suspect him, I never minded. Eventually he told me that when I came to his chamber, I shouldn’t wear any undergarments, because wearing them made the heartbeat sound very faint, creating problems for him. Following that instruction, I went to his chamber next time taking my younger sister along. But just when he was about to measure the heart sounds, he asked my little sister to wait in the waiting room. He asked me whether I had chest pain, whether there were any lumps in my breasts. When I said no, he said, “What are you saying! It seems to me there are some. If there are any, you need immediate treatment!” Saying this, he wanted to check by placing his hands on my chest. I said I would check myself, pushed his hand away, and came home almost running. I mainly went to him for allergy treatment, but seeing his interest lay elsewhere, I never went to him again. Later I heard from many people that because of such behavior, many had stopped taking treatment from him.
Two.
I am Nishu. When I was twenty-one, I had to visit the doctor every four to five days because of dental problems. Then the doctor said he would do a root canal and fit a cap on my tooth, and I would need to come every day for a week. The first day I went with my mother. On the second and third days, since mother was busy, I took my younger sister along. On the second day, under the pretense of examining my tooth, the doctor placed a handkerchief on my chest and put his hand there. I didn’t understand it then, but I understood later what it was about. When he did the same thing on the third day, I became certain, and when I came home I told my mother about it. Mother said, “But the treatment is halfway through—we can’t change doctors now.” After that, every remaining day, mother would come with me and stand right next to the doctor. That doctor worked at the district hospital, a BCS cadre officer. When a marriage proposal came from his family for a girl in our neighborhood, I went myself and told that girl everything that had happened, and the marriage didn’t take place.
Reflection: Three hundred and ten.
……………………………………..
At that time we lived in a rented house in Badda. On the fourth floor. There was an old caretaker in that building. Whenever he came to our house for any work, he would call me over and forcibly take me on his lap. Perhaps mother had gone inside to bring him some snacks, or had gone in to get the rent money! As soon as he sat me on his lap, between random conversation, he would start groping. He would squeeze and pinch my chest, hips, vagina constantly. I was very small then. No changes had come to my body yet. The discomfort I felt—I cannot describe it! He would rub his bearded face against my cheek. How disgusting! The terrible thing started when my school went to day shift! I would return home from school at half past three! The whole building would be deserted! He would lie in wait on the stairs. As soon as I arrived, he would pull me close and start his filthy behavior. “Grandfather, don’t tell anyone… stay quiet… you’ll like it!” He wore a lungi! I had just started wearing salwar-kameez when I entered school! He couldn’t do much in the dark stairway! I couldn’t tell anyone about this out of shame! Just seeing him would make me shudder with fear! I couldn’t study properly either. I would often do badly on class tests and had to endure father’s terrible scolding! When I was at home, I never forgot to wear pants with a drawstring! When mother sent me to the roof to collect clothes, the situation would become even more terrible. Somehow he would sense that I was going to the roof! And then the torture would begin!
Finally, I began to pray!
I wouldn’t even skip Fajr!
At one point, what did I do—I wouldn’t go home after returning from school! I’d leave my bag on the stairs and head to the shelter in the small field nearby!
I’d get terribly hungry! Then thirsty… even the water in my flask would run out!
What suffering it was!
The club boys would play cricket on the field! In the scorching heat, drenched in sweat, I’d sit and watch cricket! I learned so much about cricket! Eventually, it became an obsession! But my regular late returns home started earning me scoldings from Mother!
One day, returning from school, I desperately needed to urinate! And needed the big bathroom too!
I had to go home! What could I do!
Compelled, I ran up the stairs, and the moment he saw me after all these days and embraced me,
right then as I tried to break free, I wet myself! I was crying, whimpering. I saw him grinning with bared teeth! With wet, dirty pajamas, I ruined the stairs and returned home!
I told Mother,
my stomach was upset! Everyone in the building found out,
and what mockery I endured!
Such a big girl… you mean this is you!
Hahaha… After all this,
I suddenly fell very ill. I wouldn’t go to school!
Whatever I ate,
I would vomit. Somehow I passed Class Seven!
The most horrific incident happened one day! That day I… forgive me, I truly cannot write about that day’s events. The sexual violence I’ve described,
every letter of it is true,
nothing is born of my imagination—imagination cannot be so cruel and thoughtless. This writing is no fiction; it is a part of my very life. Why did I write this? So that you can protect the child close to you from such beasts in human form. You yourself are not safe from their hands. To them, age is not primary,
only the body matters.
Yet I never feel anger toward the Creator about anything!
Not even about those incidents!
He does everything for a reason! It was because of that caretaker uncle that I developed an obsession with cricket!
What I love most is standing on the street watching alley cricket!
It reminds me of childhood times. I feel great pain for that little helpless girl. Sometimes back then, I wanted to die of shame. But I didn’t die!
I’m still alive!
People live on. They live quite well even carrying a chest full of painful memories. Then memory itself seems the villain, not the painful incident.
Thought: Three hundred eleven.
……………………………………..
I am now in Class Ten. I have been sexually abused many times in my life.
The first time I was abused was when I was in Class Four. Mother sent me to a madrasa to learn Arabic. I would go there to read the Holy Quran. Every morning after Fajr prayers, I would go to study. There were two teachers at the madrasa. Everyone called them Big Huzur and Small Huzur. Big Huzur would show me great affection. Small Huzur was also affectionate. I studied very attentively. I could recite all my lessons properly. I went regularly every day. I usually recited my lessons to Big Huzur. Small Huzur generally looked after everyone,
supervising whether everyone was studying properly. Sometimes when Big Huzur went to the village, I had to recite lessons to Small Huzur.
One day the head maulvi went to his village home. I always woke up very early and was the first to reach the madrasa. I would open the gate myself, bringing the key from the mosque. That day too I went first, but the junior maulvi didn’t give me the key. He came with me to the madrasa himself and opened the gate. As we were entering together, he suddenly placed his hand on my shoulder. I was startled!
Then he began touching different parts of my body. He pulled me close, made me sit in a corner, embraced me and started groping. I couldn’t say anything out of fear. He told me repeatedly not to tell anyone. He said if I told anyone, he would beat me with a cane until my back was raw and throw me out of there.
A little while later, one of my friends arrived. He took his hands off my body. Even then I couldn’t understand why he was doing this to me. The head maulvi stayed in the village for seven days, and for all those seven days he did this to me. He would threaten me in various ways so I wouldn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t tell anyone out of fear, and if I didn’t go to the madrasa, my mother would scold me terribly. The head maulvi was very good, but whenever the junior maulvi got a chance, he would do this to me.
Eventually, unable to bear it anymore, I told my mother I wouldn’t go to study Arabic anymore. I convinced my mother with great difficulty, telling her various things. After that, my mother kept a maulvi at our house. He did exactly the same things. But I couldn’t tell anyone. I thought perhaps I was making mistakes in reading Arabic, so he was punishing me.
This went on for several days. Then I realized—wait, my mother had never punished me this way! Suddenly I saw a television program about such matters. Only then did I understand that he was wronging me. From then on, whenever he tried to touch me, I would forcefully move away. I would show a little anger toward him.
I told my mother again, “Mother, I don’t like this maulvi. I won’t learn Arabic from him anymore.” Hearing such things, my mother would scold me. My mother thought I was trying to avoid studying, that’s why I was making up stories to tell her. But I could never make my mother understand what the maulvi was doing to me! One day when he was touching my body, my mother caught a glimpse of it. That very day my mother forbade him from teaching me Arabic from then on. But my mother couldn’t protest this either, because if this came out, society would apparently blame me instead.
In fourth grade, a tutor was hired to help me with mathematics at home. The tutor was quite good at explaining math. But during our lessons, he would often touch my body. Under the table, he would pinch my legs with his foot. It made me very angry. I endured this for a month. Seeing his behavior escalate day by day, I finally told my mother everything, but she didn’t believe me. Because in front of my mother, the tutor behaved very well. He would point to me and say I looked like his sister. I was like his own sister! My mother believed his words, not mine. But I couldn’t tolerate these things anymore, and I felt as if the tutor had somehow enchanted my mother under some spell. One day I insisted firmly—if I had to continue studying with this tutor, I would quit studying altogether. I told my father everything without any shame. Then my father dismissed him.
My mother had forbidden me from telling any friend or anyone in the neighborhood about these things. She said if I told anyone, I would become bad in everyone’s eyes!
This happened just yesterday! I went to the market for shopping. I was walking on the footpath. Suddenly a middle-aged man deliberately bumped into me. My mother also saw that he touched my body. But she said nothing to him, fearing that if we protested, perhaps our society would blame me and put me in the dock! So we both silently left that place very quickly. Tears came to the corners of my eyes at our helplessness.
What wrong have I done that those men would treat me this way? Society says girls face harassment because of their clothing! But I move around wearing a burqa, yesterday too I was wearing a burqa. Where was the protection? I couldn’t keep myself safe from men’s hands!
These things cannot be told to anyone. If I tell anyone, perhaps the people of this society will drag me to the gallows! Where are we safe? Are we not human? Don’t we have the right to live? Why has this society kept us as women-people instead of thinking of us as human beings? For the convenience of exploitation? Why must we cower in fear? Why can’t we protest? My hands are truly trembling. Anger and hatred are rising within me for being born as a girl. I don’t know why I feel this way. These crimes will disappear from our society only when we can truly believe from our hearts that girls and boys are not separate entities. We must develop the habit of seeing girls not as girls, but as human beings. Without the development of mentality and perspective, this can never be possible.
Thought: Three hundred and twelve.
……………………………………..
One.
I only understood after growing up that my paternal uncle and brother-in-law were utterly vile men. As a child, I would see that when they came to visit us, they would shower excessive attention on my cousins and sisters who were then in secondary school—girls who had just entered adolescence. Even when the girls didn’t want to go near them, they would call them over with various pretexts. They would forcibly make them sit on their laps. They would wrap their arms around them from behind and hold them close, as if to prevent them from falling—that was the pretense they put on! But their real intentions were sinister. A little touching, hands wandering to different parts of the body—that sort of thing. When the older girls grew up, they wouldn’t go near them even when called. By then, a few of us had grown a bit older. When visitors came, it was now our turn to be made to sit on their laps. This is how it continued. The same thing would happen when we visited their homes too!
Now I have a daughter. Though she is very young, I don’t let her go near any of them. I say my little one doesn’t like sitting on laps. After I grew up, I discussed this matter with my mother and sisters, but what could be done! And that brother-in-law I mentioned—he was the type who would call his sisters-in-law and say, “Come, let’s all lie down and chat together.” And in that opportunity, under various pretexts, there would be touching of different parts of the body, and whenever he got a chance, kissing, and so on.
Such incidents are happening constantly in our society. No one dares to speak up. The girls who protest against such things don’t even constitute one percent of all victims. Our fathers, brothers, husbands—they too are among these people with perverted desires. I’m teaching my daughter from now: don’t let anyone touch these parts of your body, don’t sit on anyone’s lap, if you need to talk to someone, sit a little distance away and talk. If anyone forces you to do anything, if anyone touches your body, tell me immediately. You must tell Mama everything. I can’t write this properly in an organized way. Enduring all this is not easy at all. As I write, my eyes keep welling up with tears. Girls are truly helpless in these matters.
A friend of mine has been raped six times in her life so far. Four of those beasts were her blood relatives. Thinking about such things makes the heart blue with anguish.
Two.
A deeply tragic incident occurred in my life on December 28, 2014.
The boy lives in Saudi Arabia,
having completed only the eighth grade. And I had finished my BA Honours and Masters in English. I was then tutoring at home. The boy’s niece was my neighbor, who took private lessons from me. The boy was looking for a bride to marry. Somehow he came to know about me!
One day he suddenly came to visit my home with his niece. That was the first time the boy saw me,
and later he proposed marriage. Neither I nor my family agreed,
because neither his educational qualifications nor his physical fitness were suited to me. Besides, my father’s dream was to see me complete my MA, then arrange my marriage. But the boy was persistent—he would marry me no matter what! He
would tempt me with money and
jewelry in various ways, yet still I refused. Then began the harassment over the phone. Taking my number from his niece, he would harass me daily and threaten to kidnap me. I would explain to him gently and politely that I had a boyfriend,
that my marriage was already arranged with him. He
would say that no matter where I got married,
he would come and take me away.
Then came that dreadful day. He
suddenly arrived one day with accomplices and attacked my house. Holding my mother and
sister hostage at gunpoint, they kidnapped me. That day none of my relatives were around,
and my house was in quite an isolated area. After traveling nearly ten kilometers, when people became aware due to my screaming and shouting, everyone together stopped the car and rescued me unharmed. By Allah’s
infinite mercy, I returned home safely with my honor intact. Afterward I went to the police station and filed a case under the Women and Children Repression Act. Even then he didn’t leave me alone. On Facebook,
on IMO he would send me messages threatening me in various ways,
threatening to kill me and
my younger brother. I informed the elder brothers of the area about this, but they couldn’t provide any solution,
everyone was busy pursuing their own political interests. Finally I informed the ASP and OC Sir about the matter. They called in the boy’s sister and
brother-in-law and told them
to warn that boy.
Currently that boy is still in Saudi. But I’m certain he still harbors thoughts of harming me. I believe he may cause me harm in the future. I’m still not safe on the streets. His people keep me under surveillance all the time. The most painful thing
is this:
since this incident, I have become the bad one in everyone’s eyes. Everyone points fingers at me, blaming me for this incident.
What a hypocritical society women must survive in!
Reflection: Three hundred thirteen.
……………………………………..
I am speaking of some unbearable incidents from my life.
I was probably in class three or four when I first had to face something truly terrible in my life. A man who lived next to our house, who was my uncle by relation, called me to his home one day and, holding a knife to my throat to frighten me, raped me. After that, he threatened me again and continued doing this for several more days. Dear reader, believe me, as I write this, my entire body is trembling, and I feel an intense hatred for myself. Yet I must write this. Some things must be written so that no one else will have to write them later.
The boy who then committed that disgusting act with me was my own cousin—my father’s sister’s son. He took me out under the pretense of showing me around, then did this through intimidation. After that, I became the victim of similar harassment from two other people. One of my maternal cousins was very fond of me, and at the same time, a boy from our neighborhood also liked me very much, but I didn’t care for either of them. Unfortunately, I began talking to that boy from the neighborhood—I think I was in class seven then. One of my aunts brainwashed me and convinced me to talk to him. This created a lot of trouble at home with that paternal cousin of mine, because he also liked me. These were very bad times in my life. Very bad! No one could imagine what kind of mental state I went through! No one at home would talk to me, they treated me terribly, wouldn’t let me step one foot outside the house, and subjected me to so much psychological torture. They had practically stopped my education! I was just in class seven then! Can you imagine! I wasn’t even as mature as other children. Before I could understand anything, all these things were happening to me one after another.
During those terrible times, I would sometimes talk to that maternal cousin. He would call my aunt asking for me and speak very emotionally. For days I would talk to him, then stop talking again. I didn’t enjoy talking to him. Anyway, after stopping communication for many days, I began talking to him again. I didn’t like him, but at that moment I desperately needed mental support. So I would talk to him. Anyway, when I started talking to him again, I was probably in class nine. At that time, at a function at my maternal grandparents’ house, he asked me to meet him very late at night, and I agreed. Then he took me to a place behind the house and, despite my strong objections, forced himself on me physically. He took my photographs and said that if I told anyone anything, he would release the pictures. After that, he would do this from time to time, threatening to release the photographs. I was so terrified that I couldn’t say anything to him. No one in my family liked him either. If he showed those pictures to anyone in my family, they would surely kill me! Out of that fear, I couldn’t say anything to him.
Amidst such awful circumstances, my HSC exams eventually arrived. I found no pleasure in anything. He wasn’t particularly bad as a person, but he was driven by an intense sexual appetite. And I was the type who understood nothing back then—wherever he led me, I followed. I didn’t like what he did, but I didn’t find him all that repulsive either. Looking back now, I think I may have developed something of a Stockholm syndrome during that time.
Then I made the gravest mistake of my life. While trapped in this uncomfortable situation, during my HSC practical exams, I met a boy from my college. He was wonderful. I began talking with him—we talked mostly at night. After speaking with him, I felt such peace, thinking this boy was perfect for me! He was exactly what my heart desired. As we continued talking, I fell in love with him without even realizing when it happened! He possessed a strange, enchanting power. Talking with him made me feel delirious. And most importantly, like me, he was deeply devoted to Rabindranath. In this way, our HSC exams ended. I went to Dhaka for coaching. The day he left home for Dhaka, I told him I loved him. He too said he loved me. Everything was going quite well. I had found a little peace in his presence.
Then came another storm. The HSC results were announced—I had failed chemistry. Oh! What times those were! I was doing coaching in Dhaka then. Seventeen students from our coaching center had similarly poor results, all of whom had gotten A+ in SSC. In HSC, they received A+ in other subjects, failing only in chemistry.
I had become like a madman. My father wouldn’t speak, my mother would cry constantly, the people around us would say all sorts of things, and as for me—I was just me! I would cry all day long, I had completely broken down, utterly! During that time, that boy gave me tremendous mental support. Perhaps it was only because of him that I survived. I loved him deeply, I had no contact with my cousin, and I would only call upon Allah. I knew that I had made a terrible mistake, and I would have to face the consequences. I would tell Allah that He should never separate him from me. I loved him like a madwoman. He was my everything, absolutely everything! He had brought about many changes in me too—we had a strangely beautiful relationship. Trust, faith, reliance—whatever you might call it, everything was unbreakable! I considered him equal to my parents. He had earned this respect from me through his own actions. I believed that even if everyone else in the world misunderstood me, even if they all left me… my mother, my father, and he—these three people would never abandon me. I cannot express in words what he meant to me! He even knew my Facebook password. Because I felt there was nothing in my life where he couldn’t be present. I lived in constant fear about the events of my past. I was terrified—terrified of losing him. The fear of my karma haunted me constantly. After he came into my life, I had changed completely. During that time, apart from the three men in my life—my father, my brother, and him—I would never speak to any other man unless absolutely necessary. And I think he loved me deeply too. He did so much for me. So much!
Everything was going well. I was mentally preparing to take the exam for the second time, when suddenly, without any reason, he stopped talking to me one day. After that, I became like a madwoman. I’m still the same way. Everything seems dark to me. Life has no meaning for me anymore. Everything is over for me. I don’t blame anyone—all the fault is mine. I believe that what I feared most—my karma—that’s what I’m receiving now. The rest of my life will be spent enduring this karmic consequence.
It’s true that I never told him many things about my past. I wanted to tell him many times, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t because of fear—the fear of losing him. The fear that he would be hurt. Though I should have told him, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. But I would tell him everything… perhaps after some more time—that’s what I had thought. After trying hard for about two months, I managed to contact him. He told me, “I’ve found out everything about you—how much you gave to whom, in what way, with what, before me. It’s no longer possible for me to stay with you.” He wanted me to be completely transparent with him. I had told him everything, except for certain parts. That fear I mentioned—the fear of losing him—that’s why I didn’t tell him. I admit, the fault is mine. Perhaps it would have been better if I had told him everything openly, but I never found the courage to speak.
Now every moment of my life is difficult, wretched. My honors final year exams are about to begin. I haven’t studied anything. I don’t even know how I’ll sit for the exams. When life itself isn’t working out, what’s the point of taking exams!
Our relationship lasted three years. It feels terrible to say this, I feel so low about myself, but still I’m saying it—yes, I know, and I accept, that I’m the worst girl in the world right now, everyone thinks so. I shouldn’t be telling the truth anymore, but still I am—I had a physical relationship with him. I never imagined he would abandon me like this! I trusted him far too much!
I used to love moonlight so much, I loved the rain. Now when it rains I shut all the windows and doors. When moonlight enters my room I quickly hide myself away. I no longer enjoy light, I just sit in darkness, I don’t see anything anymore, I don’t listen to any music, I don’t watch movies, I only read books. I’ve decided I’ll stay alone for the rest of my life. I absolutely don’t want any man to enter my life again. Absolutely not!
Reflection: Three hundred fourteen.
……………………………………..
I love one of my friends deeply. We’ve known each other for almost four years. What exists between us is friendship, but more than that. He never wanted to name our relationship. Still, I love him. I’ve become terribly dependent on him. I’ll die without him. I can’t forget him no matter what. He comes into my life, then leaves again. Initially I didn’t think about him so much. But he showed me dreams, that’s why I thought about it later. I didn’t tell him he had to love me. I only asked him never to leave me. If he intended to leave anyway, then why did he do this?
I can’t bear it anymore. I’ve become stuck here. I would have tried to pull myself together, if only I hadn’t given myself away to him so completely. I love him terribly. But I can’t endure his neglect anymore. I’ll live alone for the rest of my life! But I want to send him one last message. I can’t think of anything. It hurts even to think. What should I write to him? What else can I even do?
Sometimes I walk down the middle of the road, but I don’t die… even when a truck comes right at me it hits the brakes! But why is this happening?
We never had any physical relationship. But he would ask me to take nude photos of myself and send them to him. I would think, perhaps he’s testing me. I’d say, we’re just friends, so why? He would reply, yes, I’m that bad. Last September he told me he would come to see me. And that I would really have to be intimate with him. I had agreed. I trusted him deeply. I believed he wouldn’t dishonor me. After that we had sexual chats several times. We talked like that on the phone too. I never wanted to do any of that—I only did it because he insisted. Because we were just friends, even though I loved him very much. Later he said, I will hold your hand only on the day I’m certain I’ll never have to let go of that hand again. Hearing these words, I had sent him such photos of myself. The relationship was beautiful then.
Suddenly one day he asked, when will you get married? I replied, what do you think—if you touch me, would I marry anyone else? After that something changed in him! He wanted to cut contact saying he was going abroad, but would message from fake accounts. When I found out, he blocked me from those too. Later, after I cried a lot, we talked again for a few days. Blocked again. He comes again, leaves again. After keeping silent for 4 months, he suddenly called one day. He asked for photos again. I gave them. I honor all his words. Yes, I gave them. Whatever he wants, I give. He should have stayed by my side after making me so dependent on him. At least he could say sorry. Yes, he did say sorry once. When I said, why didn’t you think before? Why did you come like this? Why are you leaving? Then he said, so what happened? Now what?
I wanted to forget everything and just remain friends. I suffocate without him. Yet he leaves. He leaves without telling me. He comes to tell me what he’ll do with his wife, what his children will be like. He says, one can tell such things to a friend. Even though it hurts, I endure it. If I say anything, he’ll think I’m selfish! I can’t live without him. But I also can’t bear this coming and going and neglect.
He denies everything. Yesterday he told one of my friends, Juthika will remain a friend for life…He gives me more importance as a friend. When my friend wrote to him, Juthika talks about you all the time! He said, why does Juthika talk about me, I don’t understand!…So am I just like a bad girl to him? He’s turned off 5 phone numbers. He called me from a closed SIM that he turned on. I mean, he made me dependent on him and now wants to erase my entire existence and start fresh. Good. Very good! Let him do whatever he wants!…May he be happy. But he could be happy keeping contact with me too…Is leaving like this so necessary?
I have broken my mother’s ideals. Mother asks me what has happened to me. I cannot tell her anything. I cannot tell anyone anything. What would I say, anyway? I have made a mistake, and I must suffer for it for the rest of my life. Until I pay for this error in full measure, there is no reprieve for me. Last September, I tried to commit suicide several times. I was about to do it again today, but then I saw your post.
She has turned her ID on. What should I do? If I had Aladdin’s lamp, I would trap her in there. Really, it’s all my fault. Should I bid her farewell? That would be painful. I can neither hold onto her nor let her go. I know she isn’t mine, yet I live thinking of her as mine. What meaning does this have? Should I say something to her, though………or should I just stay silent like this and watch……what else she does! Or should I say nothing to her? No, let it be! I won’t say anything to her. However I am, let her be well. When I say too much to her, later I feel terrible myself.
I have thought so much……I love her, so why is so much anger building up in my mind? Actually, I’m angry at myself. I won’t find peace by saying anything to her either. Why am I making such a big deal of this matter? What is there to think about so much? Perhaps her behavior has touched my self-respect a little, so sometimes I trouble my mind a bit.
I have actually become selfish. I don’t want to understand that very problem of hers that she won’t tell me about. Why should she make herself like me? She has to sort out her life, doesn’t she? Who am I to bother her?
I won’t want to commit suicide anymore. Let her be as she is! Even if she’s not in my life, I will never forget her. I will remember her always. And I will remain like this.
From now on, I will study with dedication. The day I become a high-ranking officer, I will surprise her. Wherever she may be, I will find her! Perhaps by then she will have her husband and children with her. Though I may feel jealous of her husband, I won’t feel that way toward the little ones. I will buy them chocolates and hold them in my arms and shower them with love.
Even in the span of a second, so much changes………why am I losing all hope?
Keeping everything bottled up inside for so long, everything seemed quite mad. And today it felt even more so. Having been able to write, I feel light as a feather. I feel as though I could fly away in an instant. Even a blank page can be such salvation! I feel wonderful now. Let me go sleep……..
By the way. I have three rules. These rules were made by her and me, I mean by us. One. I never give message ticks to anyone except her. Two. I don’t say good morning or good night to anyone else. Three. On special days, if someone else wishes me before her, I block them. (That’s why she would wish me early out of fear.)
She’s actually very good. I was at fault too.
Now sleep is truly coming. May everyone in the world be well.
Thought: Three hundred fifteen.
……………………………………..
After reading your writing, I often feel great enthusiasm and determination, but other times I feel like the most worthless and defeated person in this world. Even so, I read your pieces with genuine interest. If I can learn something good in life by coming into contact with someone like you, that would be quite something!
But the way my life is going, how much longer can it continue like this—
when I think about this, I feel so much envy toward you too,
truly! I’ve never been able to give myself anything,
instead I’ve only caused my parents pain all along. I haven’t been able to share these thoughts of mine with anyone until today, not even with my dearest friend, my mother. I don’t know
whether you’ll even read this writing of mine. Still, today I feel somewhat compelled to tell you my unspoken words!
But I have one request—please keep my words to yourself.
In our family, I grew up watching my parents work from a young age. I didn’t get much time to spend with them, which is why I was deprived of many things,
something I understood as I grew older. Still, I never felt sad about this. I could see and knew that my parents were enduring great hardship for me/for our family. I grew up watching their struggles. The desire to lessen their burden was there from childhood. So I had many dreams—
even if I couldn’t do anything for myself, I would do so much for my parents, by hook or by crook!
The determination is still there, but now I’m defeated by reality. Neither of my parents was born into wealth. They too struggled
(and continue to struggle) through their studies, and one
(mother) became a head teacher at a government primary school and the other (father)
became a college demonstrator. With these modest jobs alone they have done so much for us (me and my younger sister). Even if I were to make shoes by stitching them with the skin off my back, I could never repay their debt—others may not know this, but I do.
From childhood, I was a reasonably good student. My roll number always stayed within the top one or two in class. Though I had strong prospects of receiving scholarships in classes five and eight, I disappointed my parents and respected teachers both times. I had to endure many words from my teachers for this, and my parents were also scolded by the assistant education officer of our thana at the time. Whatever the case, without losing heart, I continued my studies repeatedly. In class nine, I first encountered trouble with a decision my father made. I wanted to study humanities and pursue some administrative career in the future, but both my parents forced me into the science stream, largely influenced by my teachers’ advice as well. The teachers wanted me to take science since I was the first boy in class, thinking it would be better. Whatever the case, against my own wishes I studied science and passed my SSC with 4.38. Though I passed, I must say, from class nine onwards I could never truly concentrate on my studies in earnest until graduation ended. Perhaps I could have managed if I had taken humanities in SSC. Why don’t our guardians ever value our wishes! Can force ever work on the heart’s chambers! Alas, who has ever understood this?
In HSC too, I passed with poor results from science, scoring 4.20. Father wanted his son to become a doctor. Mother wanted her son to become an engineer. The son had wanted since childhood to be someone in administration. Why do our parents rob us of even the freedom to dream? Does giving birth transfer ownership of all the child’s desires and dreams? This led to another domestic discord. In the end, to please my mother, without taking any admission tests anywhere, I directly enrolled in civil engineering at a private university.
Though I attended coaching classes for university admission for about a month so I could study some humanities subject at a public university, alas, fate intervened! I didn’t get a chance anywhere. I thought to myself, since mother was insisting and I was somewhat good at mathematics anyway, why not pursue engineering! Taking father along, I enrolled in civil engineering at Ahsanullah University of Science and Technology in Dhaka. Burying all dreams, I began my studies. I couldn’t achieve very good results. I finished my graduation with 3.07, while my friends scored much higher.
After going to Dhaka, my mother fell ill several times. When I was in my second year, mother called me and spoke about my marriage many times. I wasn’t ready then. Mother wanted to know if there was someone I liked. I said I was in a relationship with someone. Then mother spoke with that girl after hearing everything. At that time, with both families’ consent, my marriage took place, though initially my father wasn’t agreeable to this marriage. Mother wanted to get me married for two reasons. One: fearing that, God forbid, if she couldn’t live to see her son-in-law. Two: the biggest reason was that mother needed someone to care for her at that time. Whatever the case, I would never say that my marriage harmed my studies in any way. I stayed in Dhaka and my wife stayed with my mother.
I finished my studies with so much hope. I thought once I graduated, I’d get a job. But not a single one of my dreams has come true yet—the dream of finding work remains as elusive as ever. I believed I’d get a job based on my own merit. I still haven’t. I’ve attended interviews at many places. Except for two, all my interviews went well, but no one called me back. Many of my friends are working, having gotten jobs through various connections. When I ask my friends to help me out, they say they’re new themselves, so they can’t do anything for me. Six or seven months have passed like this.
Then I decided to study for government jobs and join somewhere in the public sector. With this in mind, I bought books and started studying. What to read, how to read—I still haven’t figured any of this out. I just study in my own way. I’ve applied for a few positions. There might be exams for two of them toward the end of this month. I know my preparation isn’t good enough. Whenever this thought crosses my mind, I feel like I’m making no progress in any direction. What should I do now? Will I ever amount to anything? I can’t understand any of this anymore. I don’t even feel like studying properly now—only despair consumes me.
Despair takes hold when I think that no matter how much I delay marriage according to my mother’s wishes, no matter how much my family doesn’t say anything, something gnaws at me inside—I’m married now, I should at least have a job! Besides, my younger sister has so many desires for things! I can’t fulfill even one of them. Father will retire next year. Mother says, “Son, if you get a job, I’ll quit mine. My body can’t take it anymore—it’s too much suffering.” When all of this floats before my eyes, believe me, I feel like ending it all! When I hear words from great people like you, I feel utterly dispirited. Whether I can give anything to myself or not, I must give something to my parents—I know this for certain, but I can’t do anything! I try, but I fail. How much longer will it go on like this? It feels like I’m slowly drowning. What should I do? I know nothing. I don’t have any uncle or mentor-type figure who might help me. There was so much more I wanted to say, but I couldn’t say it all. As I write, tears are falling drop by drop onto the keyboard.
Right now, I desperately, desperately, desperately need a job. I’m not insisting it has to be an engineering job—any job will do, one that will at least bring a little smile to my father’s face. So he won’t worry anymore about what will happen to this family after his retirement! Please help me a little. Whatever you tell me to do, I’m ready to do it! I want to start working somewhere for now and study for government jobs on the side. I know if I work hard, I’ll succeed, and I also believe I can work hard. I just need proper guidance. I’m prepared to walk down the most difficult path, but I don’t even know which path that is!
No one else knows these things. I feel a little lighter having been able to tell you. Sharing pain may not diminish the pain itself, but it brings a certain peace.