Thought: One hundred sixty-two.
……………………………………..
That impossibly beautiful image of the inverted sail on a boat………must often lose to many unsightly pictures. Have you ever stared at a truly ugly, hideous, repulsive image?
Such grotesque forms hurt the eyes,
torment the mind. They say beauty cannot be forgotten. But I’ve found it’s forgetting ugliness that’s the real challenge—ugly people, ugly memories. Will you be able to forget me?
Will I be able to forget your memory?
If reminding you daily of your New Year’s resolutions counts as interference, then I am really sorry—I shall continue this task tirelessly until the last day of the year. After all, you pledged these tasks to yourself. Just like that?
One must not become dear to people and then leave.
Or perhaps, one must not become dear to anyone at all…….
So unjust…..so very…….
With such profound love,
with such reverence for a person one has never met,
he one day makes us weep and leaves.
May all the lost beloved ones be well. Manna Dey has departed. My entire life until today has passed with his voice. My faithful companion in sorrow has gone. He was my soul’s kindred spirit. Twice in life I had the chance to be near him. Not once could I speak,
I only gazed with wonder-filled eyes. In front of beloved ones I can never speak,
I become mute. Today he is no more. It’s hard to accept this pain. I remember Father…….
In life’s journey many people come and unknowingly merge with our existence,
become a part of our lives, then at some point, compelled by life’s demands, vanish from our lives as well. But their love,
their memories, their heartfelt gestures remain in our minds. One such revered person was Belal Kaka, who selflessly gave us so much of his time from his own life—so that we might somewhat forget the absence of Abbu. Without the slightest expectation of gain, he left his job to take a smaller one, so he could give time to our family. Every month he would spend half his earnings on us. He maintained DPS bank accounts in both our names—my brother’s and mine. I’ve carefully preserved one of his diaries that I received from Belal Kaka almost 19 years ago. You know, Neil,
Belal Kaka had such a head full of wisdom! I believe every hair on his head contained intelligence!
What a genius!
I would always come first in exams,
yet he would only say, “Hey you naughty girl,
what you have in that head of yours,
you waste only on mischievous deeds. If you spent even 1% of it
on studies,
you could go very far—but that you’ll never do.”
That little me with my little head full of mischievous wit would always just quarrel with him.
I have three of my uncle’s diaries in my possession. Uncle could write beautifully. Such lovely, flowing handwriting that even great writers couldn’t match. There are many who remain hidden away, out of sight, silent, secluded. Uncle burned many of his writings himself in anger at my aunt. Aunt used to torment Uncle terribly. Uncle would often say, “Child, marriage and creativity can never walk hand in hand. Whenever a woman enters life, creativity gradually begins to wane. Marriage is like releasing a bunch of geckos into a room full of cockroaches—eventually they too will start multiplying. A carnival of troubles mixed with torment—now deal with that chaos! Marriage is for those who have nothing else to do besides their jobs or business. They’ve come into this world solely to give time to their wives. Women and wives—these are two different species. The wife-species can never tolerate the unpleasant truths that men speak or their creative work. You know, child, if your aunt hadn’t been in my life, I could have enjoyed life much more beautifully. Because I have a wife, how many books went unread in this life! Wife and books—they are each other’s sworn enemies. When the wife comes, books flee; when books come, the wife flees. The day your aunt goes to her father’s house, I ascend to heaven. Women are very skilled at both giving and taking torment! To your aunt, winning arguments, creating trouble, and causing pain are far, far, far more important than all my writings. From the day I married until now, I have never once caused her any trouble or pain of my own accord. She does love me, that’s true. But do you know what the truth is? To live well in life, peace is more important than love, my child! I’ve always wished that if necessary, she needn’t love me at all, but just not torment me. It didn’t happen. Women possess infinite talent for endless psychological torture. All these years have passed, yet she remains exactly as she was on the first day—the goddess incarnate of torment! I had great desire to do my PhD in Europe; I wanted to see Europe too while studying—I couldn’t. Your aunt’s warning was that if I wanted to go to Europe, I should divorce her first and then go. In fear of this very divorce, all these years passed. I remained a hostage to her my entire life. Men should never marry women—after marriage, men turn into domesticated animals, and perhaps even animals have a bit more freedom, child. How can life survive when you have to account for every breath to someone? Marriage is a disgusting form of slavery, chains, death. You don’t need to kill someone outright—just get them married and that’s enough punishment; they’ll die bit by bit for the rest of their lives. If the social cost of divorce weren’t so high in this country, how many people would head toward divorce, do you know? Isn’t it better to die once and live the rest of life rather than dying every moment? Two people are dying by staying together, yet society won’t let them live apart. It will watch them suffer and clap with joy—what a worthless society! I don’t know where the search for immortality leads, but whatever else may be, it’s not in marriage—marriage is an inexhaustible chalice of poison!” I had managed to recover two more of Uncle’s diaries, which have somehow gotten lost. (My wretched mother probably sold them to the scrap dealer, though she won’t admit it.) Along with Uncle’s various writings in those diaries, there were many of my own writings as well.
My conversations with Uncle and with myself,
my rambling chatter—all quite personal,
things I now think are better left unknown to others. But the moment this feeling changes,
I’ll hand over all the diaries to you right then. Thank you for asking for the diaries, Nil. This is the first time you’ve asked me for something I cannot give you. It pains me so much to say
‘no’ to someone dear. Ah!
If only I were dear to you too,
then you would understand this pain I feel right now.
Uncle Belal is no more. In my purest feelings, his presence becomes vivid with each passing moment. Wherever Uncle may be, may he be well.
Thought: One hundred and sixty-three.
……………………………………..
I’ll come straight home after evening. Promise! Will you work all day? Don’t! What’s the problem if I stay with you? I won’t say a word, won’t trouble you even a bit. Why don’t you trust me? When you go to other offices or anywhere, I’ll stand outside like a perfect good girl! Always, always I want to see you. Why do you torment me so much, Rajat? Do you know how much it hurts? Why do you always do this? Tell me! Must you always hurt people like this? Why are you so awful? I will talk to you, talk to you, talk to you! Oh my God, I can’t take this boy anymore! That day on the video call I desperately wanted to touch you. And you just left! You monkey!
Do you know how terribly you’ve made me cry these past two days and nights? Even now my eyes are wet. I often become very restless. Why do you do this to me? What hurt you so much that you blocked me? I didn’t do anything to you. Then why did you block my number?
How desperately I wanted to meet you just once—and you left. Do I look that awful? Or am I that annoying? When we do meet someday, I’ll beat you up terribly. So many beatings have piled up! When will you come to Durgapur again? Why don’t you say anything? At least scold me! Even abuse would do. Just speak. By staying silent you give me the ‘pain of silence’ in your silence. You’ll see, one day I’ll become silent forever and give you the ‘joy of silence.’ Is there truly joy in silence? I don’t think so. Silence leaves a person utterly helpless. How much pain, hurt, and anguish accumulates in the bottomless abyss of silence! There’s no conversation crueler than silence. A word—even the most beautiful long one that holds you spellbound for hours—moves a person less than a moment’s silence. Words have meanings numbering at most a few, but silence has meanings in the thousands. If the responsibility of deciphering silence’s meaning is once properly thrust upon someone, what disasters come knocking at their life! Am I talking too much? One day I won’t talk anymore. That day you won’t even find this crazy girl.
Five mobile phones and one laptop were stolen from our house and the one next door. The neighbor was wailing melodiously in the morning, grieving for his laptop. I had slept for barely three-quarters of an hour at dawn, and in that short time the thief had made off with my phone—opening the window glass from outside, cutting through the mosquito net, taking it from under a pile of clothes on the bed! The manner of the theft is all standard enough,
but the strange thing is,
among those five phones, the thief left only my SIM card by the window!
Can you imagine!
Standing there on that fourth-floor balcony at sunset, taking out the SIM and leaving it behind!
I don’t know why all the world’s bizarre incidents happen to me. You wouldn’t know this,
but when Mother saw the SIM, she said,
“The thief probably thought you were in love, so out of kindness didn’t want to trouble you even for one night!”
What terrible things this mother says! I may be shameless, but doesn’t that mean I have no shame at all?
The unnecessary ones come, fulfill their needs, and depart when no longer needed—when you need them, you can’t find a trace of them. In their crowd, the necessary ones cannot come close. Yet,
meeting the needs of the necessary is far more urgent than satisfying the unnecessary. What sense is there in pushing away truly close people while allowing near those who come only for self-interest and need?
Rain—perhaps it is so beautifully gentle and soothing because it falls in countless separate drops, scattered and distinct.
Every day when I wake up and remember the block, my heart sinks. Why do you still have me blocked? I don’t pester you with calls. You never answer anyway, so how could I pester?
You don’t answer, I can’t hear your voice,
yet still I used to think,
you are there, you are there,
when I dial your number my name floats up on your screen, each time you cut the call my number reminds you, even slightly, of my existence—did you have to snatch away even this small happiness from me?
I only loved you truly—is the punishment for this so severe? A morning of sorrowful melancholy to you.
I want to see your underwear! (While you’re wearing it)……….Oh,
if only one could become invisible and stay beside beloved ones, watching them constantly—how they live,
how they speak, how they laugh, how they cry, how they walk, how they eat, how they sleep, what they do in leisure,
how they rush about when busy…….only how they relieve themselves—that I have no desire to see!
I’ve decided I’ll attend your wedding. My beloved becoming someone else’s beloved—how can I not witness this scene? Don’t be afraid,
I won’t reveal my identity to anyone. No one will ever know how much pain one person has willingly taken from you,
and will take—for a lifetime! You too will never know that no one has ever loved you more than this madwoman does, loves you, or ever will. Listen mister, if you suddenly spot me, don’t start scolding! Because then I’ll burst into tears and gather a crowd!
In the end there won’t be enough food to go around!
Hmph!
Thought: One hundred and sixty-four.
……………………………………..
Would a video call really annoy someone that much?
What actually comes of a single call?
Let me just make a ‘let’s see each other’ call! Heyyyy Surath! Please listen to meee!
My dear, is today your wedding? I have no one else
to ask,
so I’m asking you. I went to the shop at half past nine,
there were so many people I didn’t feel like calling you,
so couldn’t talk either. If today really is your wedding,
I want to see you a little. How people look just before marriage—I feel like seeing that.
Shriek upon shriek drowning all existence in lustful cries, becoming numb again and again. One thinks, where is the pain? What of what!…….Then why that scream?
That’s merely mockery!
Self-mockery, jest. And if there’s heartache with it, then what?
Damn it all! Alas,
life mingles in body heat!
Today’s ‘she’ and my ‘she’—I want to see them not a little, but very much, I want it so badly—yet who listens to me!
Whose responsibility is what? I understand everything. You didn’t listen! Fine, they say time tells all!
Please dear,
give me a photo!
I’ll see the new groom!
Isssss, groom!
On that well-known old path again—walking once more…….so familiar,
yet somehow,
quite unfamiliar!
Will you be able to walk that path, friend?
If you stumble badly on the wrong path while walking,
let me know—I’ll come running!
Good night ‘she’. Good night
‘Su’.
I feel like seeing you both together. What does it matter to anyone if I feel like it?
Only that love is pure,
which loves like pain.
Truly, no one ever knows how to love like pain. If one loved that way, no one could ever leave their beloved. What more skilled lover is there than pain itself?
If you fall in love, ask first,
Will you be my pain?
You remain my pain.
Hold my hand not as joy, but as pain.
Everyone wants fullness of feeling. Alas, once that fullness is achieved, it allows one to feel not only complete emotions, but to hold emptiness of feeling too. Then the heart tears and becomes one,
yet that fullness never leaves the heart.
Iss, if only it were possible—whenever I wished, ‘one’
Su could become ‘many’
Sus!
People like you coming into the world as only one piece
is very unfair.
I feel like making a video call to see what you’re up to. I took a bath—immediately all feeling washed away. Ah
peace!
I feel like having someone on the pillow to my right so I can shove them off the bed! Sleep won’t come,
sleeplessness comes.
Silent hatred wrapped in fierce love…….
Or, quiet love wrapped in sharp hatred…….
Different. Yet somewhere, a deep resemblance.
Let them live—hatred, contempt, cruelty.
Let them live—affection, love, tenderness.
Life sustains itself on these two forces,
the world endures through them.
Indeed, my magnanimous generosity, my selfless love—it’s only natural that they should meet with disrespect! Quite normal. I’ve accepted it.
In my rage, I’ve dug a well with my teeth! I intend to drown you in it!
Don’t you dare learn to swim, not ever in your life—so that at least you can be properly drowned!
Posting photos is absurd. Sometimes I feel like being absurd too, so whenever you wish, I’m compelled to hand over the owner of the selfie to you (in the picture)!
I find great peace when I look around and see not a single other female donkey like myself. What bliss! There’s a special joy in living as a donkey. Those who aren’t donkeys will never understand this.
Thought: One hundred sixty-six.
……………………………………..
That day, carrying four hundred thousand rupees from Chandannagar by rickshaw, laughing and chattering, I went alone to deposit the money at the Baghrakanan branch of Arthaalay Bank and was returning home… just then, a message from a friend: “Where are you? Come home. Very urgent!” She’s an ASP, currently with CID. I called and asked, “Sir, why the urgent summons?” She said, “I need to deposit a big amount from one bank to another, don’t have the courage to go alone, come along.” I thought, a lot of money. I said, “How much!?” The reply came: “One lakh!”
Dear God! A rich person’s car-owning, house-owning wife, a formidable ASP earning forty thousand rupees a month! And she’s asking for my help to carry one lakh rupees! Homeless me, earning zero rupees in this age, an idle unemployed pauper—I wander alone through this busy city carrying four lakhs! Actually, being as unconscious as I am, or being as hyper-conscious as she is—neither is right.
This happened many years ago. I had secured admission to a good school by ranking first in the Class Five entrance examination. On the very first day of class, as I sat down in the front bench, a girl came up and said, “If you want to sit in the front bench, you should earn it by coming first in the exams.”
Even at that tender age, I felt deeply humiliated and wounded by those words. That day, without uttering a single word, I went and sat at the back. After the exam results came out, I had firmly secured my place in the front bench, but my friend had lost that privilege forever. Just the other day, after all these years, I mentioned this incident to her in jest, sweetly and good-naturedly. Ah! Her humiliated eyes seemed to haunt me! She retorted fiercely, “Coming first in school is nothing special—even a goat can come first. Look where you are today, and where I am!” Throughout our entire school life, I never once treated her badly, never caused her even the slightest hurt. No matter how much injustice people do to me, the pain stays deep within me, but I cannot help but give love. That day too, I said nothing to her. I consoled myself, thinking that because she judges people by their jobs, she trembles at the slightest breeze in her heart, while even the fiercest storms in my heart cannot move me a hair’s breadth—this is natural justice! Today my BCS-FCS feels unbearable because……
Alas! I feel like subjecting my “ha” to a little violation (you’ll have to read it as “philosophy”… hehe).
What am I to do when all my desires turn so bizarre? How is it my fault? Just like the other day morning, what I wanted to see—if you promise not to judge, I’ll tell you… no, never mind!
Why do you keep sending smiley emojis constantly? You silly goose! Go on then, take a little swim. But don’t get your wings wet—you’ll catch cold.
There you go again! Have you turned into a robot? I’ll absolutely bite and break the teeth of that emoji! Do you recognize me?
Well, Hashmi,
is X really that exciting? Perhaps it must be,
otherwise why would the entire world go so mad for it? But what X shows,
as much as it shows,
creates additional pressure of expectation in the mind. So much of so many things in such ways cannot actually be accomplished in reality. If someone doesn’t understand the bravado of cameras or the tricks of shooting or Viagra-like medications and expects X-level performance from themselves and their partner,
disappointment will inevitably come. The art of love, like other arts, is something to be mastered,
an object of practice. This art is as much physical
as it is mental—a person’s satisfaction or dissatisfaction depends greatly on their personal skill. Now let me come to what I’m trying to say. Is sex, in most cases, merely a physical matter
that, when it becomes an addiction, one wants to do repeatedly, with whoever it may be? Or is sex dependent on love,
where one desires to do it only with someone for whom there is affection or love?
Love, affection, fondness,
infatuation, sex—these can exist without one another. There is no real mutual dependency among them. These five different feelings can arise for one or multiple people. Sex can happen without the slightest mental attraction, and again we see relationships wrapped in intense love that have not even a trace of sex. What factors determine the desire to have sex with someone—
Freud and
his like-minded friends have told us much about this; but broadly speaking,
the desire for sex is a very natural desire, like the desire to satisfy hunger and thirst, and this desire can arise in any familiar healthy relationship (even,
in unfamiliar healthy relationships).
Why do we want to drink water—the answer is simply ‘to quench thirst’;
similarly, why do we want to have sex—
the only answer is also ‘to quench thirst.’ The more this matter is kept as a social taboo, the more criminal tendencies will increase in society. Different people’s sexual fantasies are also different. Depending on physical constitution and
mental preparation, sexual experiences can vary. Based on mutual desire and
physical and mental capability, any fantasy can be fulfilled however one wants, as many times as one wants, for as long as one wants. But one thing is very, very, very true. If there is a connection between body and mind,
then the art of love becomes complete in all sixteen aspects.
There was so much more I meant to say,
I’ve forgotten. Damn! I can never say anything coherently. I say 10% and the rest just becomes whatever.
Well, Hashmi,
with all these arrangements,
all these invitations, all these conversations, didn’t it occur to you to send me a wedding invitation card?
Exactly how much feeling does it take to send just one card? Does even that small amount of feeling require
‘something else’? I know,
I am so insignificant that even for my presence in the smallest part of this grand arrangement, you didn’t think I was worthy of getting a small
‘yes’ from your heart. I only asked for the date, nothing more, you didn’t even tell me that.
Ah, if only it could be so—that whenever one wished, one could see all the beloved ones!
Thought: One hundred sixty-six.
……………………………………..
Every woman truly needs a separate existence of her own. Something that is not her father’s, not her brother’s, not her husband’s, not even her children’s—an address that is solely hers, entirely hers, privately hers, solitary hers; she needs such a refuge where there is no restlessness of staying, no anguish of leaving. She needs just such a small room. Let that room be called ‘dobhana,’ meaning ‘gift.’ Let the woman promise herself every moment that she will have such a room, where even if she walks with her hair loose, no one will say, why doesn’t this unruly girl tie her hair? In that room, if she asks for money to buy kohl, no one will scold her—what’s the need for so much kohl around the eyes? Even if there’s no possibility of fulfilling this dream, even if it’s merely a daydream; let’s assume the woman is quite an unreasonably wayward dreamer—still, still her beloved imaginary dobhana is her dream’s Amaravati, where she will live beautifully, live with laughter—in that little room of hers, everyone will have a heartfelt invitation. Let women live—in dreams, not only in chains!
There comes a time when a person, despite having all the arrangements for being unwell, somehow remains wonderfully well. During that time, people around life keep saying—listen here! You are not well, I’m telling you the truth, you are not well. You are sleeping, wake up! Time passes this way. Then again comes a time when, despite having all the means for wellness, a person somehow remains very unwell; truly unwell. Then again the surroundings shamelessly keep saying—you are well, you are wonderfully well. Break through the walls of this nightmare and see how beautifully you exist! They can no longer be made to understand in any way that she is truly no longer well…….Woman! Understand time while there is time!
I see many women who, when they join a profession or manage to become someone special, somehow take on a particular form—a harsh, arrogant form. She assumes that, even if it takes all of life’s strength, she must somehow externally demonstrate—who she is, what she is, how she is! But why? Once women join any work, how do ‘women’ somehow become ‘woman-shaped men’? But why? Why must they rise up? Why must they shout to display strength? Why must they become harsh? Women should remain like women—peaceful, gentle, serene. Women will establish themselves through their own merit, work for society and country, join any profession if there’s opportunity and desire, stand against any injustice, take on a fiery form when necessary—all of this is fine, but why must such a form be externally adopted? Let the strength remain within…….burning like intense fire—touch it and everything will turn to ash! Let women not become like this!
The enchanting girl wraps the burning coal within her in beautiful, pleasing foil and will suddenly pull it out from inside at the right time, for the right need, hurling it in the right place. What need is there to unnecessarily wrap oneself in special outward garb? Why should a high-ranking police officer have to shout himself hoarse, squabbling with a mere peanut vendor—”Do you know who I am? Do you know what I can do?” Some people think that clothing is the sole expression of all achievement! Special clothes, worn in a special style—without these, no matter how truly distinguished someone may be, their position, dignity, lineage all seem to vanish, swept away in the swelling Meghna. Why, brother? The achievement you’ve made will speak for itself—why needlessly grab that poor thing by the throat? How many small people strut about in grand clothes. Does this make them great?
A sweet girl, having become a sweet magistrate, wearing sweet clothes, goes to a sweet shop, eats sweets, praises the sweets, speaks sweetly, smiles sweetly, with sweet eyes—and slaps a hundred thousand taka fine!
Any problem!?
Reflection: One hundred sixty-seven.
……………………………………..
If no one responds to your call for a selfie…..then take one yourself!
Rabindranath has commanded—with what audacity do I ignore?
Post one photo and it feels like an earthquake! Sky-high emotions over a picture! Listen, Chowdhury saheb…….no, nothing, nothing at all!
Perhaps it’s like this, isn’t it? The salty waters laugh with “haha” sounds, and the laughter sobs itself to death!
“Where did you buy this?”
“From Jamuna Future, Ma……”
“Ohhh……that market, the one with more chairs than people?”
“Yes, indeed!”
Ma, what things she says!
I bought a strange thing. I thought, where even rope can’t tie things together, there rope-less won’t work either! Let those things be. Still, thinking something or other, I ended up buying it. Later I saw the thing actually works! Though it can’t give a beautiful shape, at least it can somehow ‘hold’ things together with great effort! Strange brassiere!
Your virtual world,
your own thoughts and musings, and certain personal matters—what unbearable torment they might bring into the life of your ‘her,’
you could never even fathom the shadow of it. If she is either too foolish or too intelligent,
then you won’t understand the matter, or she herself
won’t let you understand;
but if she’s the middling type, you might perhaps grasp at least a fragment of her anguish. It’s not at all that she won’t support you in your passion or that she’ll obstruct you in that work,
yet it’s a different species of torment—the kind of suffering that demands you clear out much of the space inside your chest so it can settle in comfortably. You won’t be able to bear it,
nor will you be able to say anything to her. You will never understand her,
she will never trust you. Your work,
your creation,
your pride—everything will begin to crumble into dust. You won’t be able to leave her, nor will you be able to hold onto her. With every breath you take, some unknown fear will consume you—you yourself will never understand what that fear is of!
An infinite loss of faith in yourself will settle in,
you won’t be able to think coherently,
you won’t feel like working systematically. Her presence and her absence—both will keep you perpetually exhausted. The rhythm of normal living will become so degraded,
existence itself will seem like meaningless servitude to you.
Six or seven months ago, in the middle of some night, I felt like saying all this. But I didn’t say it!
Had I said it,
I would have addressed you formally!
(Life isn’t passing like this, is it? However it may be,
please stay well!)
The closed door
doesn’t see this side
what happens on that side.
That side doesn’t see
what happens on this side.
The same door conceals two events,
on different stages two joys and sorrows live.
Terror in the blood or peace in the very blood. The blood that breaks a heart—that heart still revels in blood!
No reply!
Not a single one!
Have you died or whaaaaat? Pleeeease……don’t take
me with you! Let only those survive—who have less intimacy with feelings.
People don’t suffer,
do they? You’re a genie! That matter of the ropeless one I mentioned that day,
I feel like putting it around your neck. Should I push you off the launch chair into the water? You’ve never learned to swim, just running around on water! Get off the launch! Get off!
Is there anyone around who’s compassionate?
(Even an ugly-looking compassionate person will do!)
Tell them
to push you into the water with one shove,
in exchange for whatever they want,
I’ll give it all!
I say so much, yet if people would just learn to swim a little, the Mahabharata would become corrupted!
I feel like seeing something live, going to the cabin for a video call…….
I was about to leave for shopping, when Mother said, “Take a picture!” (Whenever she wears a new sari, she takes photos!)
I was about to click, when suddenly I saw Mother had bent her arm!
“Straighten your arm. Why is your arm bent!?”
“Look,
don’t you see the models? They hold their sari just like this, with their hand placed this way. Come on, lift it up.”
Oh my God! What is this woman saying!
The old bat!
Her hair has turned to hemp fiber, and now she’s coming to give modeling poses!
“When models do it, it’s modeling. But you look like someone with a broken arm!”
(Tsk, Shaili! You shouldn’t speak to Mother like this.)
Mother looked at me with angry eyes and said, “What would you understand about these things? You’re such an unsmart, crude girl! I feel ashamed whenever I take you anywhere!”
What is Mother saying!
Oh dear!
Why did I go asking for humiliation!
But still, Mother spoke the truth!
Blue red blue purple red purple green red green gray red gray—my life!
Sorrows of many colors come…….
Whatever color the sorrow may be,
Blood drips from the wounded heart—drips and drips!
Thought: One hundred sixty-eight.
……………………………………..
A doctor standing with a long, dark black penis in his hand (not his own, but a patient’s), along with five others—this is what I saw as soon as I entered the OT!
One of them almost shouted upon seeing me,
“What’s this? What’s this?!”
The doctor who had brought me along
said somewhat embarrassedly, “Sorry about her! I’ll be back in a moment.”
A little later I entered the OT again. Two handsome young doctors were sitting there.
: What’s the problem?
: I already told you!
: I mean!?
Who did you tell!?
: I told someone or other, can’t remember!
Meanwhile, a slightly older female doctor came running and said,
“Hey girl,
where are your papers?”
I said, “Don’t have any, ma’am!”
She left as if I had shown her the papers.
The doctor I had spoken with earlier
came. He explained to the two young doctors (he had addressed them as,
“Listen, you kids……”)
how much to cut for the nail infection.
One of those two handsome doctors: “Who came with you?”
“No one came.”
“What do you mean?
You came all alone to have surgery!?”
“Hmmmm……”
“What if you don’t regain consciousness—what are we supposed to do with you!?”
“Keep me with you until consciousness returns.”
I saw them looking at each other with eyes full of bewilderment and irritation. I took a quick glance around the entire OT. Three operations were underway simultaneously on three beds. One man’s abdomen was being repeatedly punctured with something that looked like a long steel skewer. The OT door was wide open—people coming and going. Why was the operation taking so long?
Saying this, a patient’s relative barged in, shouting incessantly, and no one could make him understand. This type of relative only comes to the hospital to create trouble. I heard one doctor call over a patient’s relative and say,
“Brother, for how many days has the boy not defecated? During the operation, if he soils himself, it’ll make a mess of everything!”
The doctor at the bed right next to mine was listening to the conversation between me and my doctor with exactly the same concentration he was applying to his work,
smiling quietly to himself.
(I assumed
he was keeping an eye on things to ensure the patient in the next bed also received proper care.)
So many other things were happening, when one of the two handsome men spread a white sheet on the bed and said,
“Please lie down.”
“Must I lie down? Is the sheet clean?”
“What…?”
“No,
nothing.”
I’m a germaphobe, so I lay down with a heap of disgust.
“Since you’ve come alone,
who will hold your purse?”
I held out my purse to one of them and said, “Here,
please keep it with you!”
“I should keep it?”
“Yes,
please keep it! You don’t have any pickpocketing habits, do you?”
Though the gentleman had endured everything politely until now, this time he got quite angry.
“What do you mean?”
“What you understood, that’s what I meant.”
“How dare you say that!
Don’t try to be oversmart! Okay?”
“OMG! I’m not even smart to begin with, so how could I be ‘over’ smart? Didn’t you see that because I came here so plainly dressed, you people didn’t give me any attention at all!
You kept me standing for three hours!”
“Do you think if you had come in expensive clothes, we would have done your operation immediately?”
“Well, you certainly would have! But did I say that?
You can’t even understand simple talk! How did you manage to pass such a difficult subject like medical science? (I was trying to butter him up a little,
later I saw
it worked!)
I mean,
by cheating and such…right?”
Now understanding everything, he burst into laughter. He said,
“Now I understand how your family allowed you to come alone from home for an operation! You’re quite a spirited girl!”
It felt good to be scolded. When a handsome, smart person scolds you, it doesn’t feel too bad.
I was given two injections in my hand. Those anesthetic injections are terribly mischievous—they made me cry a lot. Those with whom I’d been sparring all this while must surely be laughing inwardly seeing my condition. The disdainful laughter of beautiful people!
A delectable faluda of my prestige was being prepared. Ugh…
I was looking at my own hand. A doctor said, “What’s this! Are you going to watch?
Look the other way.”
I turned my face away and stayed looking elsewhere. The operation was underway.
It took half an hour. They cut off the nail. Showing me a blood-soaked sheet folded many times over with pus, Mr. Handsome said,
“Look, see what was inside your nail!” I was truly amazed. I knew I carried filth in my mind—but in my body too…!
After the bandaging, it was time to leave. The young doctor pointed to someone at a distance and said,
“You got the operation for free. Here, now give him something.”
I gave something and said, “I came here precisely because it would be free! Otherwise, what ghost would come here!?”
“The people who come here,
are they ghosts?”
“No no, there are she-devils in that group too!”
He burst out laughing. He said,
“I can tell you didn’t come here for the free treatment.
But why exactly did you come here, tell me?”
“Don’t even ask,
brother! I showed it at two hospitals. They said I’d have to stay admitted for a day for the operation. But I can’t stay admitted. My mother is alone at home, and I can’t even tell her I’m having surgery—she’d raise such a ruckus she’d bring the house down!
So I wanted to get the operation done somewhere that would kick me out even if I wanted to stay! Look how you’ve done this half-hearted operation and are throwing me out!”
“Ha ha ha ha…….you’re incredibly sweet!”
Then he tried to arrange some way to stay in touch with me later, in a roundabout way. And I, equally roundabout, poured ice-cold water on his scheming arrangements! Finally,
I thanked him, said goodbye, and left.
Evening is falling, darkening everything around. I pull down the hood of the rickshaw. Destination…….the realm of illusions.