The Story of a 'No'

It must have been 2008. Fortunately, at that time, not many people knew me. I wrote only in English on Facebook then. I used to write much more than I do now. I could reply to friends’ comments. I would write enormous responses to their replies. Back then, I hardly found anyone in my friend list, except for one or two, who were Bangladeshi and could write good English, who were worthy of commenting on my wall. I can no longer write English anywhere near the style I had then. The funny thing is, back then I could even think in English when writing poetry! Even now, when I read my own writing as a reader, it feels unfamiliar to me. I keep thinking, this isn’t me, it’s someone else! I have never found that writerly self again. This is one of my greatest sorrows. In those days I dreamed that I too would write in English like Amitav Ghosh, Arundhati Roy, Vikram Seth, Chetan Bhagat, Salman Rushdie. I didn’t just dream—I believed it fiercely in my heart. Even now, if someone asked me to give up something very dear to me, I would be willing to make that exchange to get back that writing style. The death of that writer still pains me. Though sometimes I think it might not be death but reincarnation.

In those days, not many people stayed in touch with me, and I didn’t have to maintain contact with many people either, so I found some people who were very precious to me, and I was reasonably precious to them too. I have always been against the idea that one must stay in touch with everyone. The two things I loved most in this world were: reading books and writing on Facebook. I haven’t known the world beyond these for very long. Let me give you an example. I learned the art of looking at girls, mixing with them, and talking to them only about four and a half years ago at most. Before that, I was always extremely shy and introverted, terribly afraid of girls. No one ever saw me talking or walking with any girl in those days. I was quite rude on the phone too. Not giving girls any attention seemed like the most heroic thing in the world! I pretended not to care; actually, I was afraid.

Following Rhonda Byrne’s “like attracts like” theory, some people who were intellectually similar to me were drawn to me after seeing my writing. Among them were high-profile teachers from various universities including Delhi, Madras, Cambridge, Oxford, Harvard, and people from such high echelons of society that I could never have imagined befriending them. I used to go to their walls and comment on very high-level, difficult subjects, and to capture their attention I would study extensively and prepare to discuss those topics, argue knowing I would lose. There’s joy even in losing a fight with great people—you learn so much from it. Given the caliber of people they were, it would have been natural for them not even to notice my comments. Yet truly, I never had to endure such neglect, or rather, I never allowed myself to endure such neglect. But it did happen that in the early days, my hands would tremble when writing comments. I won’t mention the gentleman’s name, but when the then Chief of Indian Police would write on my wall, and he along with some people of similar stature would try to refute my arguments in debates about religion, for me it was like a mouse hanging from a lion’s mane to announce its existence while lions were fighting lions. The funny thing was, seeing my writing and way of thinking, many of them thought I was much older. It never occurred to anyone that I was just an insignificant young man. I took advantage of this and would go to their walls to show off. They too would regularly come to my wall to comment. Even then, I could speak very directly and candidly. When the Chief Civil Surgeon of the Indian Army published one of my poems on his own blog under his own name, I severely humiliated him. I don’t recall ever speaking flatteringly to anyone. So my relationship with all of them was like that of friends. A famous professor from Delhi University used to call me Mr. Angry Youngman. His books are taught in many universities at home and abroad. I found all this very amusing. Though I say this very humbly, when it comes to writing in the true sense, I don’t recall there being many among them who could match me. Yes, I did converse with some non-Bengali Indian writers and literature professors. They wrote quite well.

But even when I was that nobody, I used to unfriend people quite often. (I don’t remember if blocking was possible then.) I removed a writer from my list who had received several national awards in India because he made a condescending comment to me. An IIM professor once angrily told me for some reason, “Even your teachers’ teachers did their PhDs under me. You come to me, you still have a lot to learn.” I said, “Sir, that may be true. But I never gave you permission to supervise my PhD.” At that, he unfriended me. A famous Bengali writer, the wife of a wealthy Malaysian businessman, told me, “If you want, you can take up the job of translating my writing. I’m willing to pay good fees.” I said, “If I do translate, I’ll translate better writing for free.” The then CEO of Hindustan Unilever asked me, “What do you say! Don’t you know me? All of India knows me!” I said, “Sir, why must I know you? I still don’t know 5% of the big businessmen in my own country. It hasn’t caused me any problems so far!” The then Chief Engineer of the mechanical side of Dubai Telecom told me, “Sushanta, I can easily arrange a job for you at my company if I want.” I politely replied, “No sir, you can’t. Because I would have to want it too.” My calculation was simple. What I can do, I do well. That’s my asset. I’ll try to make something of myself with that. Why should I tolerate unnecessary arrogance from someone I have nothing to ask or expect from? He might be a very important person. So what? I will never let anyone disrespect me. Knowing how to respect oneself is the most important thing. He is great in his place, I am great in mine. Even if my place is small, I am still the greatest in that small place! My small place is very big to me! Anyone who doesn’t know how to respect that place has no need in my life. I never went begging to anyone, so why should I tolerate anyone’s condescension? I neither eat from anyone nor wear their clothes. Therefore, I won’t allow anyone to humiliate me. This is how I used to think.

I am a person with the rare talent of losing friends. I generally cannot maintain contact with anyone. I truly forget. I don’t call people on my own much. Even if someone disappears, I remember them less. Just because someone is in an important position doesn’t mean I have to maintain good relations with them—there’s nothing like that in me. This is one of my very bad traits. Those who stay with me, who remain, generally stay and remain by their own virtue. I am sincerely grateful to them for this magnanimity. But there are some people I cannot forget, will never be able to forget. Even if they cause me great sorrow, even if they neglect me terribly, I will honor them with a bowed head for life, pray for them for life. Everything I have today is because of them. I speak of one such person.

At that time, I regularly chatted in my inbox with only a handful of people. One of them was Sudeshna didi. She belonged to the Sikh community. After her father’s death, they migrated to America for family reasons. Her marriage to the man she loved never happened because of this emigration. From America, she passed her chartered accountancy and after changing jobs twice, joined Disney. In 2004, her annual salary at that job was 2 crore 64 lakh taka in Bangladeshi currency. She had married an Indian software entrepreneur living in America. I can’t quite recall the name of his company, but I remember it was one of America’s top 10 software companies. At that time, I had opened my heart completely about my helplessness and wretched circumstances to three strangers, and she was one of them. I had never seen her, but we always talked in the inbox, and sometimes she would call, though I couldn’t understand much of what she said because she spoke very quickly in English. Apart from father, mother, and my younger brother, she was the only person to whom I could tell everything and find great peace. She would always tell me, “Bappi, you can do much more than you think you can, if you can just expand the circle of your imagination a little. I have mixed with many people, traveled to many countries. Since I have seen the world a little more than you have, I can understand that the days ahead of you will be much more beautiful than you imagine. You don’t yet know where you will go.” I believed every word of Sudeshna didi’s like a blind man. If she had told me to jump into fire, I might have done just that, because I would have convinced myself that surely something good was waiting for me there. In this small life of mine, I haven’t seen many good people like her. Her philosophy of life had deeply influenced me. I would think about her words all day long—with respect, wonder, and love. Her lifestyle was one of the most gorgeous lifestyles I had ever seen. She had told me to read The Secret. At that time, I couldn’t find the book in Bangladesh. Then she told me she would send the book by parcel from America. I didn’t like receiving gifts. Fearing she might actually send it, I imported the book from abroad through Book Web in Dhaka’s New Market and told her, “Didi, I got it. No need anymore.” Our inbox conversations covered diverse topics including philosophy, psychology, literature, travel, civilization, and culture. I couldn’t find much of those conversations later in my Facebook chat history. I found very little, which I kept as notes under the title “Conversations with My Idol.” But our early conversations were the best. If I could have found them, I could have enlightened myself once more.

What inspired me most were several books she suggested and her own philosophy of life. I would listen to didi with fascination, contemplate her teachings, and do whatever she told me to do. For as long as I spoke with her, I felt like I possessed infinite power. I believed that if I tried, I could go as far as it was possible for me to go in this world. The most beautiful things in the world were waiting for me. Since I had never encountered them until now, to find them I would have to move away from my past experiences. If I kept doing what I had been doing all this time, I would remain just as I had been—this is what I felt. She is one of the few people to whom I will remain forever indebted for helping me change the nature of my perspective.

At that time, her first child came into her lap: Neel. A few days after the child’s birth, she left her job to raise the child. I was truly amazed by her decision. It had never occurred to me that anyone could even think of leaving such a job. She respected and valued me greatly for my writing and thinking. Before leaving the job, she had sought my opinion. When I advised her against leaving the job, she told me, “To gain something big in life, one must let go of attachment to smaller things.” My mother used to tell me almost the same thing. I understood then that even if two people live at opposite ends of the world, if their mentalities match, many of their thoughts align too. To enter the depths of life’s philosophical teachings, one doesn’t need such profound formal education. I understood then that to receive the world’s greatest gifts, one must first distance oneself from greed for money. The less greed for money someone has, the more fearless and wealthy they are. Once you can free yourself from the fascination with money, you don’t have to bow your head much to anyone. Didi had advised me to go to America for higher studies. She had many friends teaching at various universities. It wouldn’t have been difficult for her to arrange a scholarship for me from a university. She was working toward that and advising me to complete my honors quickly. She loved me so much that after uploading photos of various family occasions on Facebook, when I commented there, she would introduce me to everyone saying, “This is my beloved younger brother Bappi.” I also regularly communicated on Facebook with many of her friends. Among them was a famous film producer from Mumbai (the elder brother of Sudeshna didi’s ex-boyfriend) who had proposed several times that I join Indian films. He had wanted to take on all my responsibilities. I repeatedly turned down that proposal. Didi and her friends would laugh heartily about this. They would say, “Poor thing thinks his talent will run away if he gets caught up in looks! What if the heroines bewitch our hero! And besides, if the hero has too much brains in his head, how will he kiss the heroine? Hahahaha…” I thought that if I went into films, what I wanted wouldn’t happen. More importantly, I would grow big through my own efforts. I would never rise by holding someone’s hand. I wanted to become big, but not by accepting anyone’s pity. If necessary, I would stick with the businesses I was doing now.

Conversations with Sudeshna didi continued on various topics. She loved me very much and listened to every word of mine attentively. I would tell her stories of the strange turns in my life. I would share my childish thoughts about life. There was nothing in her life that I didn’t know. She knew everything about what I thought of myself, how I saw the world around me. I even shared with her thoughts that I didn’t have the courage to face myself. Some time later, one day Sudeshna didi said, “Listen, you’re going to come to America anyway for higher studies, right?” “Yes, didi.” “Okay, do one thing! Your brother-in-law was saying this morning that he needs to hire an engineer for his New York office. You don’t like engineering anyway. Do one thing. Come here, you’ll stay at my house, and you’ll look after our New York office. His cousin will help you. Alongside this, you’ll complete your MBA. After finishing your MBA, we’ll make you in-charge of one of our state offices. I’ve told him. He’s quite excited after hearing about it! He said, ‘Sudeshna, if your brother-in-law does business with me, then I have no worries at all!’” For the first time in my life, didi’s words hit me like a tremendous blow; I don’t know why, but I felt deeply hurt. Perhaps because I loved didi so much, her words caused me terrible offense. I wanted to succeed in life, to organize my life—fine. But I wouldn’t rise by holding anyone’s hand—this was my oath to myself. If necessary, I would disappear, but I wouldn’t beg anyone for directions. Without taking a single penny from anyone, without accepting anyone’s favor, I would keep trying with my last drop of blood if needed. Had I unknowingly said something to didi that made her think I wanted some favor from her? Shame! My self-respect cried out from within, “Never! Not even if I starve to death! I won’t go anywhere. If I have to go, I’ll go on my own merit.” A Bengali middle-class person has only one wealth: self-respect! If you sell that too, what else remains! That day I reacted tremendously. I saw that even beloved Sudeshna didi could be given a piece of one’s mind. In utter amazement, I found myself writing extremely arrogant words in the chat. Reading didi’s words, it seemed like didi was crying. Still, I felt no compassion. In my rage-blinded mind, I kept writing whatever came to me. “Didi, how could you think that I would establish myself in life by accepting charity from you? I won’t come to America at all. I don’t need your degrees! The day I can come through my own efforts, I’ll come. I’ll have lots of fun with you, brother-in-law, and my nephew that day. If you ever think such things again, there’s no need to talk to me. I don’t want wealth. I’m quite happy being poor!”

Didi was a person of great heart. Even after her younger brother’s such reaction, she didn’t push him away. She apologized many times for no reason! She said, “I truly didn’t understand. I truly didn’t think so much before saying those words. Bappi, I love you dearly. Every day when I pray, I pray for you. I believe you will become very big. Hearing about you, your brother-in-law said, ‘Sudeshna, you see, this boy will go very far!’ Don’t be angry, my dear brother, my precious brother. I promise, I will never say such things to you again. Forgive your foolish didi, brother.”… Hearing all this, I couldn’t hold back my tears either. Crying, I swore to didi, “Didi, the pain you felt today because of me—I will honor this pain even if it costs me my life. Just stay by my side, that’s all I need.”

My sister stood beside me,
and that’s why I exist today. I never lost my way because of someone
I had never even seen. A virtual relationship brought order to my life. After my parents, my sister is God to me in this world. About a year ago, cancer forced her to have her breast and uterus removed. She often tells me, “Listen, I never would have known how much a person can endure if I hadn’t seen it in myself. That I’m still alive—it’s purely because of my life force, nothing else. If someone had told me that anyone could survive the agony of chemotherapy and those ghastly treatments they call cancer care, I wouldn’t have believed it. The very fact that I’m alive—that’s what brings joy, that’s what amazes me!” My sister now lives in California. She has opened a free counseling center to give mental strength to cancer patients. Her wish is to spend the rest of her life raising Nil, traveling the world, filling her own life and others’ with joy, and serving humanity. From my sister I have learned how to celebrate life to the fullest even in the worst conditions! The greatest success in this world: to have lived fully on your own terms before death comes!