Reflection: Eight.
…………………………
“After the maturity, will you deposit the money again?”
“Yes.”
(Pointing to a sick elderly man sitting in front)
“Then, it might be better not to do it in his name anymore.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, what I was saying is, when he might… I mean, he’s a sick man, so…”
“No, no, it’s alright, I’ve thought about it too. I would have done it in another name anyway.”
After hearing this, the elderly man’s helpless expression… even looking at him was painful. Perhaps he was thinking, “I almost always leave the hearing aid at home, but today of all days I had to remember to wear it?” Now was the age for him to remain happy by not knowing many things.
“But yes, you can keep him as the nominee.”
“No, no, not father anymore. I’ll make my younger brother the nominee. Then there won’t be any tension at all.”
“Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right. That’s better.”
After this, I saw the elderly man who had come with him, sitting a little distance away, press a handkerchief to his face and head toward the bathroom. The thick glasses sometimes serve quite well, not just for seeing, but for hiding oneself… even at this age, he doesn’t want to cry in front of his son… perhaps the habit still hasn’t formed.
How easily it comes to a person’s mind that he will die after his father! Father came first, therefore father will go first. During our lifetime, we simply assume we will never die. We prefer to believe that we are safer, more secure from death’s grasp than that old man… yet mortality statistics tell a different story.
This was a conversation between a Sonali Bank officer and a certain individual. The bank officer was perhaps saying the right thing, perfectly normal and ordinary words. Since the elderly man’s time was nearly up, there was no point in opening an account in his name anymore. But sometimes, these utterly ordinary, natural matters can cause such extraordinary, unbearable anguish to a person’s heart—only the one who suffers understands this. Within life’s most natural, ordinary incidents hide the most terrible things; we cannot see them, yet they see us perfectly, keep watching us, continue to watch, and when the time comes, they strike the fatal blow! Then one must accept either enduring or ending—one of these two.
Money has no value of its own; money has value only because of people. Yet these very people someday become truly worthless… but money’s value remains. Life is like this—the value of worthless money renders even the most precious treasure completely worthless.
Reflection: Nine.
…………………………
I picked up the Golden Boat.
No room, no room— small is that boat/ Filled it has gone with my golden grain… I’m reading and thinking, why is Rabindranath such a fool!? If because of the golden grain— I myself have no place on the boat, then what’s the need, dear fellow, for all that golden grain business!? The boat should have no grain at all, just the boat, just one boatman— plenty of space, no tension, a do-fun-type boat is what I need. When the boat comes to shore, I alone will jump aboard, leaping and bounding! I’ll stretch out comfortably. I’ll let my body-eyes-mind dance. Ahhhhh! What bliss! What bliss! The sail will flutter in the wind, the boat will carry me floating away. Aha aha! All that rain-and-storm nonsense aside— light clouds like herds of white cows will graze about, sunlight will burst through the clouds and make the sky sparkle and gleam. The sky will descend lower, even lower, just for me— I could touch it if I reached out my hand. Watching the changing of that beloved sky, the play of clear water, the dance of the gentle breeze, my heart will fill up. The villages on both sides, the fields and banks, the paths, the trees and plants will keep beckoning— come, come! I won’t be able to rush off to them, so the attraction will be all the greater. From the fields on both banks farmers will harvest golden grain, the shepherd will drive me crazy with the tune of his flute, in the tree shadows tired afternoon will rest to the cooing of doves, and I’ll suddenly slip away from the boat in a quiet moment. I’ll take the shepherd’s towel, tie it on my head, and upload a picture of myself with flute in hand to Facebook; or, bringing my lips close to his red cow’s face, pushing them forward in a circle, squinting my eyes, I’ll click a prismatic constipation-selfie in a kissing pose! And immediately, hundreds of likes will come, ‘Looking cooool!’ comments will fill up the post, I’ll feel, “Ah, what joy in sky and air!” If someone sings and roams about in a nearby boat, I’ll call them over and listen to a song, and if I like the song, I’ll put a CloudNine in their hand— how happy they’ll be. If they want more, I’m ready to give them the Snickers from my pocket too, then let them go wherever they want to go. But I definitely won’t hand over all the chocolates I have with me— will I chew puffed rice later? And if they don’t come when I call, then I’ll eat alone! If they don’t know me at all, why should I bother knowing them? Pointless! What’s the need? If they don’t know me, then it’s totally cool and carefree! That CloudNine and Snickers— I’ll eat both myself. Yummmmyyyy…!! Where’s the time to go begging for recognition? Should I wash down their pity with Mirinda? I’ll roam this river suddenly awakened by brushstrokes of color and post on Facebook— I rock! Boat rocks! Boatman rocks! River rocks! Sky rocks! Grain rocks! Tree shade rocks! Fields rock! Village rocks! Water rocks! Waves rock! Life rocks!… I’ll tag the shepherd, the red cow and the boatman, add to How You Are Feeling— awesome emo, check-in at— river’s heart!… Hundreds of likes will come. Comments will arrive: “Enjoy, dude!” In shares people will write, “It’s life— live it!”
… Aha aha aha! Just thinking of all this, ready to dance with joy going tathoi-tathoi, I’m just about to lift one foot up, and immediately, some spoilsport grabs my leg firmly from below and says— “You fool, you stupid ass! If you don’t have golden grain, why would the boat come to your shore? Even if it came, why would it bother to dock with you!? What do you have?”
Alas! All my happiness evaporated like camphor. Even before I could love, I was struck down and left bent out of shape. I thought to myself—truly, the boat will not come to shore for me alone. Whatever worth I possess exists only in my own eyes; what does the boat care for that?—This truth is indeed a great truth! However much my heart may writhe in pain accepting this truth, how can I deny it?
I have come to understand that the wretched bearded old man was right, and I was the fool.
Reflection: Ten.
…………………………
“Now it is deep night……under the open sky…….so many arrangements of life……” What is this talk!? At this early morning hour—deep night!? What does that mean, good sir? Well, why shouldn’t it be so!? Let it be dawn for nature, let it be morning, let it be whatever—but here in my mind it is night, pitch black! There’s no problem with that! If the depths of my mind are drowning in the darkness of night, and that same song wants to play there, then what can I do about it? Let it be morning—I refuse to acknowledge this morning. “What kind of morning is this, darker than night itself……..” I will forget how to love the morning. Tell me, why do the birds chirp and chatter at dawn? Why don’t they do it at other times? If I want to hear their chirping, why must I wake from sleep while it’s still dawn? I do love them so. Then why won’t they chirp and chatter at my preferred time? When someone you love doesn’t give you what you want, how does it feel? When I cannot give my beloved what they desire, I myself feel terrible. Don’t they feel the same way? Or do they not love me at all? Am I asking for something that would require them to adapt to something new? They’re awake anyway at that time—I mean, just as dawn is ending—so why can’t they just chirp and chatter a little! Is dawn the only time for their chirping? Tell me, why can’t the work of one time be done at another time? Off-time is also a time, isn’t it?
In the morning, two questions that ruin my mood—one: What shall I have for breakfast today? Two: What shall I cook today? By the time I decide what to have for breakfast, it’s already noon—and breakfast never happens. By the time I decide what to cook for lunch, evening has arrived. Breakfast at lunchtime—brunch. Even that doesn’t happen for me. What happens is brunch at dinnertime—branner—my newly coined word. Any problem with that? They combined breakfast and lunch to make brunch, so why can’t I combine lunch and dinner to make branner? Of course I can. I may not have been born in the land of the English, fine, but I’ve learned their language, haven’t I? Let me enrich them a little too! Where is it written in any scripture that morning and afternoon meals cannot be eaten at night? We’ll just eat them anyway. Do we make the rules, or do the rules make us? The thing is, I woke up at half past one in the morning and still haven’t had breakfast, just because the clock hand touched two! I’m craving luchi and dal, but I don’t feel like cooking, and I can’t even think of going out to eat! So what’s to be done? Stay hungry! This harsh midday sun. A strange silence in nature. The floor, ceiling, walls, doorframes, windows—everything together is caressing the sunlight and inviting it into the house. The blazing midday nature casts a kind of spell. In the mind, body, heart, thoughts—it awakens love, intoxication. Who says romanticism belongs only to the night? Oh! If only one could chew and swallow romanticism and never feel hungry again! If one could fill the belly by chewing and eating love, who would bother with all that nonsense of jobs and work?
Thought: Eleven.
…………………………
How dark it has become. Rain, with storm as well. Seeing such darkness, who would say it’s twelve noon! Where are you now? On the bus? How far have you traveled? Look through that window—rain, rain, rain… it will feel wonderful. Why don’t you ask the bus to stop at the next stop! I’ll come running? I’ll get on the bus with two mugs of steaming hot coffee. All around us darkness, midnight’s silence, the bus rushing forward, the whooshing rain, the scent of rain in the air, the warmth of two mugs of coffee! And the two of us. Life is beautiful, isn’t it? I know, all of this is false. Around false life, from time to time, several false feelings, like Saturn’s rings, encircle life. Unnecessary, irrelevant, directionless feelings. But the reality is, to survive in life, even these false feelings are needed. At certain times, I find no one beside me, I begin to feel utterly helpless. Right then, from somewhere those feelings come and stand beside me. They say, I may be false, but still I’m here with you! If I weren’t here, who would you have to live with, tell me? This being beside, being with, giving company—are these also false? Living with a smile through false feelings is also life! If those feelings weren’t there, perhaps living itself would have become painful. I am alive—that itself is wonderful! What keeps one alive is even more wonderful! Let it be false, looking at myself I think, this feeling well with her—isn’t this true? She who is more true than truth itself, constant! It would have been very good if I could hide all my feelings even from myself. But alas, the more I try to hide them, the more vividly they reveal themselves! Whenever I step out onto the street, I have sunglasses on my eyes. People think it’s fashion, but it’s necessity—painfully, I don’t cover my eyes for either of those two reasons. The sunglasses are needed more to hide tears than to shield eyes. How much I cry behind those sunglasses while walking on streets under harsh sun, only Ray-Ban knows. Sometimes, seeing my own condition, I smile absent-mindedly to myself. I understand that in the end, I will have to marry this sorrow itself and become a householder. Whatever you all say, brother, this marriage is what I want!
Thought: Twelve.
…………………………
How I long to indulge so many of my desires! Like this one—I want to hear the voice of someone dear to me. But they won’t let me hear it! I call, they cut the line. Why do the people we love move through this world with such cruelty? They carry a universe of busyness right on the tip of their nose. Those we don’t care for—they’re the ones with nothing to do. I think to myself, ah! If only they would record a song and send it—even with a cracked voice, it would still be a song from someone dear! I know I won’t get it, but still, there’s no harm in wanting to feel happy about it. The one I love, but will never have—I want them not to marry. But how could that ever happen? All the people in the world could sit around unmarried, yet this person would be the first to run ahead and get married properly. That’s the rule. Instead of feeling sad on my beloved’s wedding day, I’d rather learn how to go and enjoy the feast with gusto. There’s someone—if ‘they’ were in front of me right now, I’d pour a whole bucket of water over their head! I don’t know why I feel like doing that. Love is telling me to do exactly that! What’s my fault in this?! I also want to push them and knock them down. Why do they send replies with whatever comes to mind without even reading my message—I want to ask them this directly by landing a solid punch right on their nose. In the pouring rain, I want to watch them, or nature itself, getting soaked. If I were to meet them alone somewhere, I would really, truly beat them up! I haven’t decided exactly how I’ll beat them. And I’ll pull and pull their hair until it all tears out! Then I’ll put it in a bottle and bring it home. I’ll keep it on my study table and make faces at it from time to time. If they want to come out, I’ll tighten the bottle cap even more. I wonder, if I stuff them in a bottle and bring them home, will they scream “Mommy!” like a child? Then I’ll be the one crying! I often feel like giving my desires a complete holiday from life—letting them go completely…but I don’t. When desires leave life, people become terribly alone. I want to post a selfie. But my face doesn’t look good. I’ve ruined my appearance wandering around in the wilderness all day. On top of that, my cheek is itching. I’ve scratched and scratched until my cheek has turned red. What if everyone gets annoyed by such a selfie? Listen, those who don’t like photos of girls who aren’t pretty—don’t they understand that those girls also want to get likes? Fine, I’m not pretty, okay, so maybe don’t fall in love with me, but does that mean you can’t even give a trivial little like? What’s the point of staying on this cruel, like-less Facebook? Is this the Facebook I had dreamed of? In anger and sorrow, I want to forget how to swim and jump into the sea. But wait, if I jump into the sea, won’t I immediately want to swim again? What if I tie myself up before jumping—how would that be? Ahhh…if I tie myself up, how will I jump? Should I abandon the desire to tie myself up then? What’s done unwillingly isn’t really done at all. But then, which of my desired actions can I actually do? If I could share with someone what I do all day before going to sleep at night—I’d save the money I spend on sleeping pills every month! Aaaaah…a bug has gotten into my ear, I can’t get it out. How happily it’s jumping around! I could just grab it and smash it! Huuuuuu…why are you so terrible? It’s all your fault!
Honestly, I’d love to hug your mind… if only I could get this earwig out—good night… no, wait! Even if I can’t get the bug out, good night to you… ugh! What torment this is! When a beloved person leaves your heart, and when a bug crawls into your ear—the agony is the same! Oh my poor ear! My ear, my dear life! Come on, bug, get out! Yeahhh… I feel like hitting something hard—with my hands or a cricket bat. Who or what, I don’t know, but I feel like it… Well, what do people do when they’re feeling low? I don’t know what kind of successful or failed attempts people make to lift their spirits, but I just took one of those kinds of baths. It does feel good, I see! I’m thinking, if Bangladesh only won at cricket, would our hearts ever feel heavy again?
Thought: Thirteen.
…………………………
Does love get trapped if we cannot love some boundless, vast, particular invisible—let’s say we confine it to six feet, to some strange living creature! Conscience, knowledge, wisdom—hah hah hah… I know, even hearing these words makes one laugh. Have they truly become worthless? With tireless hands, I dig my own grave. Truly, we couldn’t even learn to be properly selfish. Oh what… what am I saying? Am I a fool? Does the invisible have any value?! What utter rubbish!… Alas, perhaps we have never seen a corpse. Even if we had, that corpse never drew us. Oh, duality of being! People weep with great difficulty. And then, unconsciously break into tears from great joy too—even in admiration for a good person, tears come to the eyes… The heart screams and weeps at a bad person’s vile mentality or their actions. Having everything creates a kind of lamentation among people—even those in lands of plenty are not truly well… People who get nothing live within that very lamentation. The destinations of residents of these two completely opposite poles are the same! Why does this happen? Perhaps because—humans come from emptiness and return to emptiness again. If that’s so, then what’s the use of seeking only happiness, of finding happiness? Still, humans do want happiness! The suddenly awakened chaotic stormy wind—brings happiness but does not make one happy. What difference does it make? If we think for a moment that this sweet breeze touching our skin has perhaps touched some beloved people… Ah! Then even a slight gentle breeze makes the heart flutter, dance! People say a madman’s happiness lies within his mind. What do I know! It seems to me everyone’s happiness lies within their mind. If we don’t give happiness a place in this mind, then who has the power to make me happy? If someone searches for a definition of happiness bringing only what can be seen outside the mind, then there’s no greater fool. Those whose lips constantly pour forth laughter like spring water—who keeps track of how much sorrow they live through? Again, I see many who, during lunch, because a little curry spilled on their shirt, are drowning in an ocean of grief over that stain. No one can say what intoxication keeps whom alive. Strangely, people often don’t know themselves why they’re actually alive, what would make them feel good, in what they would find joy. I remain very confused about how to live life so that many days later, I’ll never think, “No! Life could have been a little different!” Sometimes I think I’ve received far too much happiness, comfort, ease, joy in the life I’ve left behind—one couldn’t be better off than this, at least in my case, truly there’s no need to be better off than this. So even if the rest of life passes in hardship, it wouldn’t be right to regret it at all. Now, I should prepare my mind for hardship. Then again, sometimes I think life has passed through one strange suffering after another. Suffering, don’t you ever get tired!? Happiness, where are you!? Enough now, at least show yourself a little, brother! Life’s sufferings—never end completely. They only change form from time to time. Happiness too, the same way. Different happiness is essentially the same happiness—only the color of happiness differs.
Thought: Fourteen.
…………………………
Sitting in Rifle Square, leisurely eating sushi, life was feeling beautiful. Suddenly, this beautiful life took a blow! “Look at that girl’s skin, how gorgeous! How lovely she looks! And you? What’s your state!” At my mother’s words, I looked toward that skin-beauty. Oh my lord! Does this girl buy a makeup box every day or what? And how much time does she spend rubbing it on her face? Even if I did all the beautifying of my entire lifetime together, it would be less than this! Is there anyone as hopeless as me? The secret of my beauty—which no one will ever ask about—is this: I emerge with thirty-taka glycerin smeared on my face! Those who spend lakhs on beauty, if they don’t look beautiful, would I ever look beautiful? Once I really wanted to wash that beauty’s face and see her real features! In that sun, if I knew the spell to bring rain, I would have started chanting. Oh rain, wash away the coating on her face! Nowadays, makeup beauties no longer come out in the ‘fair face, dark hands’ style—their intelligence has grown: they rub both hands and face until gleaming fair before stepping out. Still, whatever anyone says, many people actually prefer those makeup-wearers. They’re enchanted by disguised beauty. But what works in my head—what I say to myself and say aloud—is this: what joy is there in enchanting people with a false appearance that isn’t mine, that I am not? Yet I see that however much someone may go mad chanting ‘I want good, I want good,’ they inevitably surrender to that very evil, remain captivated by evil’s spell—if that evil looks outwardly good. Lately, society too has learned to wear makeup, just like people. The only difference is that occasionally rubbing off makeup to return to one’s true appearance—society doesn’t even have that remover.
Standing before the dressing table mirror, seeing the Extra Fairness Beauty Cream ad on the billboard outside through the open window, looking at the mirror, twisting my lips, I really want to know—does not plucking my eyebrows make me look extra-ugly? Whatever, let me stop this whining! Actually, mothers of plain-looking girls have no peace of mind. Girls marry the heart, and men marry the body. What’s to be done? Even plain girls have to be married off! What fault is it of the mothers?
When going somewhere where there’s absolutely no need to look beautiful—then, at least I should look like some beauty’s distant cousin!
And when going somewhere where it’s very necessary to look beautiful—there, I end up looking exactly like a witch’s grandmother! Even normally I look like a witch, but then I get a promotion and become completely disheveled.
Sisters, does this happen to you too?
If ‘yes,’ then weep.
If ‘no,’ then dance.