Dear Writer,
Greetings! Take my salaam first, will you? Okay, good.
Now give me some proper advice! I’ve been in terrible trouble for days now. I don’t enjoy Facebooking anymore. Of course, I haven’t been active for very long. Now I feel like I was better off alone! It’s becoming unbearable. Makes me nauseous.
I’m feeling all sorts of things that I can’t even put into words. I’m struggling to handle just a few relatives and a few friends. Look how many friends people make! How do they manage to handle so many? They must be supernatural! I don’t have the guts to unfriend my Facebook friends—everyone on the list is someone I know. If they asked, I wouldn’t be able to give them any reason for removing them. But if I deactivate my profile, then I won’t be able to see you either. Seeing you has become a habit (read “bad habit” if you want). Though my habits are under my control—I mean, I deliberately cultivate this habit. Still, it feels strange somehow. Listen, you won’t forget me, will you! Talking to you has also become a habit. I’m used to talking to myself. You can’t imagine how much I chatter away in my mind. I talk to the Creator. And what I say to you, well, you see it all, though you don’t hear anything, don’t say anything either. I really love silent listeners—I talk too much, you see.
Alright, let me do this—I’ll deactivate my profile and occasionally sneak back to check on you quietly?
I actually opened an account called Souvik Swastika, but damn it, I can’t remember the password. Let me see if I can figure that out and close that one too. And listen, if you get married in the meantime, don’t go telling your wife all my stories! No matter how dear she is to you, don’t tell her. One woman simply cannot tolerate another woman. For women, even male bosses are better at the office. Women have dog-like tendencies. When one woman sees another in her territory, she starts barking and howling. And if you absolutely cannot avoid telling her about me, then you could mention it gradually, but disguise it a bit—use a different name. Never laugh at me. If you feel like laughing, just recite the last two lines of your status from today. What goes around comes around. Every man is paid back in his own coin. This isn’t a threat, by the way—it’s just the truth. You’ll see for yourself later. I don’t want anyone making fun of me.
Dear Granthik,
How did you become such a good person? Oh my!
Look how much that boy has grown! Just two months ago he was so tiny! Want to hear a real story?
You know what I think of you—if I sent you detailed messages every day about all my thoughts, surely some if not all of your writing would come to a halt. Why? Because it would match! When someone else is voicing your thoughts, how could you write them? How did you suddenly become so well-behaved? Just a while ago, the things you used to write, or those one or two foul words you said to me—based on those alone, anyone could easily have labeled you a rascal! And that you’re a flirting master—even a child could figure that out! But you know what, there’s something about you. I wanted to believe you were a good person. Because you seemed like me. Which means I think well of myself! Oh no! I’ve started talking like Granthik! You’re a vastly enlarged version of Shanaya. (By the way, Shanaya is my nickname—Grandma gave it to me. For giving me this sexy name, I’ve magnanimously forgiven that old hag for many of her crimes.) If I had opportunities like you and became an elephant of wisdom, perhaps I could say I’m exactly like you. (For ordinary folks like me, you need some opportunities to grow big. My whole life has been spent fighting obstacles. How else would I become big, you tell me!) But you do have some mental issues, brother! Get angry if you want, but it’s true. I was relieved to hear you hadn’t read my previous email properly. No need to read it anyway. Sending it was a wrong decision. It’s full of massive sob stories. I don’t like sad stories. I like happy stories. You’ll write happy stories sometimes, won’t you! I’ll just drop by, read, and leave.
One more thing. Write something that roasts men a little! What happens if you criticize men? Does your fan count go down? Will you die if your fans decrease? Keep this in mind—your fans are all helpless creatures. If you ever get into trouble, they won’t be able to do anything for you except pray. Though I doubt whether they’ll even think to do that much during your time of trouble! Bengalis are ungrateful and treacherous types, brother! See for yourself! What’s the point of spending all your time on someone who won’t be useful when you need them? The most valuable thing you give anyone in your lifetime is your time. There’s no greater foolishness than giving this precious resource to the wrong people. Virtual Facebook public and real-life public are two different things. There’s nothing more fake than virtual Facebook friends and followers. This stuff is really quite useless, purely ornamental fruit—looks good but is rotten and worthless. When you’re really in trouble, you’ll see it’s all air—you won’t even find a crow nearby! The public that makes noise on Facebook doesn’t even dare let out a sound fart in real life out of fear. Make some powerful and sincere fans plus friends—they’ll be useful when the time comes.
Listen, keep your old stories, I mean those notes. I haven’t read them all yet. I like to read your writing leisurely, with proper ceremony. (Don’t think I’m being overly flattering again. That’s just how I read, you know!) I don’t read when I’m busy. Though this habit wasn’t like this before. And I never used to sit on Facebook before either. My real age of expressing myself is at most three or three and a half months. But no—this isn’t feeling good anymore either! Facebook feels disgusting to use. I would have closed the account by now. Why did I even start talking to you that day! Said what I said! Fine then. Then why did I go and play that magic app! Whatever I play, everything shows you with me! Why, dear God! Are there no other men in the world? Why did you act like that the other day? Girls fight like that with each other. Are you a girl? I’ve never in my life heard of boys and girls fighting about their own appearances! And that too between a writer and a reader! The words writer and reader themselves make it clear where each person stands! So! Why did you argue with me? Why should a writer give a reader so much space? Strange! You did less, I did more, because the fault was yours. But you replied at least a little! Just because I said something, you had to respond? Haven’t you developed any maturity? I got sick with anger and sadness that day! Do you do this with everyone? Mister, you’re a bit off. Sorry. I mean, you were.
The Great
Granthic, you wanted to come to Rajshahi, and I couldn’t give you the green signal! Please forgive me. But you must come once, please. There isn’t another city as beautiful and well-organized as Rajshahi anywhere in Bangladesh. The main city stretches lengthwise, running parallel to the Padma River. Isn’t that lovely? Fortunately, my home is also somewhere along that parallel road. I won’t be able to bring you to my house, but I can show you the river. The sad thing is, if you don’t come during the monsoon, you won’t enjoy seeing the river much—I hear those big brothers and sisters in India have taken all the water! One thing though, our sunset is even more beautiful than Cox’s Bazar’s sunset. And our well-arranged campus of five square kilometers—feel free to see it with whomever you like. You won’t enjoy it much alone. It would be better if you could tour the campus with some beauty. Even wandering around looking at latrines while holding a beauty’s hand brings that level of peace! I’m a poor man with a rotten face, I can at best treat you to some khalas’ homemade roti from the roadside. Oh sorry, you’re the pampered son of a wealthy house! You won’t be able to eat such things! What can I do! Just stay hungry then! I’m a bit of a rascal! I don’t spend money on rich people (out of jealousy). (Aren’t you one less than six feet tall—a “big” man?) Therefore, I won’t be able to bring food and such. Whether it’s food or anything else, I’m not into binding and organizing, I can’t do all that. I don’t bind people, I don’t bind food either. I’m used to wandering empty-handed. Didn’t you ask why I act like a child? You know what happened? I’m not actually small, I’m kept small. They don’t let me go anywhere, don’t let me do anything. I can’t even buy anything. Take this for instance—cloth costs 400 taka per yard, and I ask the shopkeeper, won’t 700 taka work? See how smart I am! Once I went to a shop and asked for 2 kilograms of duck eggs. This is absolutely true. It’s a blessing that the people of Rajshahi are good! Still, you know, I once went to my maternal grandparents’ house and got lost seven times? Let me tell you a story. A story of my courage. One day, without telling anyone, I set out with 700 and some loose change, not knowing where I was going! It must have been 2013 or 12, I don’t remember. I really don’t remember anything though. Many people taunt me saying, don’t you forget to eat rice? How do I tell them! I even forget to eat! (I really-truly forget though! It happens that I eat rice at one-thirty and then again at three I tell mother, won’t you give me food? How late it’s gotten!) What I was saying—out of fear of some swine, I couldn’t figure out what to do, where to hide. I left home, didn’t know where to go, suddenly jumped on a bus. What will happen? What will I do? I never think about such things. I didn’t think then either. At that time I met an angel of a woman. I mean, I do look a bit handsome so………damn it!!
I’m being granthic again! Constantly beautifying myself isn’t my department’s job, that belongs to your department. Are you slightly annoyed that I’m doing your job?
So back to the story I was telling. Maybe I looked beautiful then, or perhaps because I was sitting alone on the bus crying — I don’t know exactly why — but this fairy-like beautiful girl just started chattering away with me out of nowhere. The girl really was incredibly beautiful. One woman doesn’t easily call another woman beautiful, but I’m telling you, this girl was so stunning there was no denying it. Not tall like me, this ghostly giant — she was maybe 5’5″ or 5’6″. Slim build, beautiful clothes, beautiful voice, much fairer than you. The apu was quite a bit older than me. As we talked on the road, she practically forced me to get off with her at Natore. I was getting scared — was this girl up to something shady? Why such interest in a stranger? Why show so much concern? It felt like a movie. And where else was I going to go anyway? I kept silently reciting Dua-e-Yunus the whole time. I’m terribly devout, you know! The one I call on in trouble — I also fight with Him, then ask forgiveness, then find fault, then protest, then have little chats too. I do everything with Him. After all, I don’t have anyone else. So that day along with fear, I was also feeling ashamed. Because I’d left home wearing my house clothes. I was thinking, what must she think of me! God knows what kind of vagrant she thinks I am! So this apu whose name was Binu — Binu from Banya Ahmed — she took me this way and that, introduced me to her husband, and showed me around quite a bit. Ignoring my protests, she called my mother and somehow convinced her, managing to win Ma over which amazed me! If my father had found out, he would have killed me for sure; despite the apu’s best efforts, she couldn’t get Abba’s number out of me. That day the apu force-fed me, left me to rest at her sister’s PTI hostel at noon, and at five in the evening put me on a bus with some female boss of her husband’s. This boss lady would drop me off on the road and continue to Nababganj. And from my bus fare onwards, she wouldn’t let me spend a single taka anywhere. What an incredible thing, don’t you think? Would anyone believe such people exist in this world? What interest did that apu have, tell me? I think about it and marvel — if I’d been in Binu apu’s place, what would I have done? Wouldn’t I have just looked the other way and moved on? And even if I hadn’t done that, at most I’d have given some advice, thinking if she listened, fine, if not, oh well, I’ve said what I had to say, and defended myself that way, right? Probably wouldn’t have felt any need to think further about it. And spend money? No way! I just wouldn’t have done it! And if I had done something, only then, only when I asked and got the answer that she had no money. Most importantly, I would never in my life have talked so much uninvited. “What’s wrong with you?” — what conversation could go beyond that? Binu apu gave me lots of comfort that day, all of which I knew muuuch better than she did, and she kept saying that pig would get what’s coming to him, this would happen, that would happen. Come on! We could do things better than you, but I just couldn’t tell anyone anything! Why I was such an idiot and coward then — now when I think about it, I want to kick myself. Tell me, have you ever left home like this?
Did you ever have
such courage?
That was my first and, by fate’s grace, solitary journey of my life. Food debt and rent debt still chase me around. Somehow, someday, I’ll have to come back and settle them. If nothing else, I should at least visit once, don’t you think? The other debts can never be repaid anyway. Just thinking about those times gives me goosebumps. Young girls have such strange notions in their heads, don’t they? Back then I harbored intense disdain for people. Of course, I don’t despise anyone now. When wisdom ripens, hatred diminishes. To despise someone, you have to think about certain things. I don’t think about anything anymore. Even whom I think about is under my control. Let’s see, once I get the job, I’ll go to Natore and visit apu. (I’m not unemployed now, by the way. But nobody calls what I do a “job.” I apparently have the qualifications for a more respectable position. Quite amusing, isn’t it? Hehehe………) Just once more, I had to go alone to Dhaka to my sister’s place a few days ago—alone meaning just sitting on the bus by myself. Even then, Abba probably called the driver and supervisor fifty times. You know, I fell asleep like the dead on that bus! There was no one in the seat next to me, and I had headphones in my ears, so when the supervisor couldn’t wake me by calling, he was forced to tap my hand to break my sleep! While I was awake, I saw that bastard sticking his finger up his nose, pulling out his own creations, rolling them into little balls, and throwing them out the window like marbles. And with that same finger he… Yuck! Ugh! Of course, it was my own fault! From that day I’ve sworn, I will never go to Dhaka alone again. And if I do go, I won’t sleep like the dead. Not even if I die!
Ah, I never described the kalai roti, did I? Do you know what that is? There’s a lentil called kalai. The people here eat it as dal. Have you ever heard of this thing in your life? Okay, let me simplify it. You know maskalai/mashkalai dal, right? That’s kalai dal. So they grind that dal into flour, mix it with who knows what else, and make it like roti. A really thick piece of bread. Say, 40-50 millimeters thick. The funny thing is, it has to be made with two hands, but without using any rolling pin. This isn’t actually Rajshahi culture, it’s from Nawabganj. The neighboring district. People from Rajshahi can’t make this thing! And you eat it with chili paste—meaning ground chilies mixed with chopped onions and mustard oil. It’s also eaten with spicy eggplant mash. It has a magical power. If you eat this, supposedly you don’t need to eat anything for a long time. That’s why rickshaw drivers and such—basically the poor working class—eat this for lunch. It’s very economical for them. (Depending on size, it costs 15 to 20 taka.) And naturally it has all sorts of nutritional benefits and whatnot. Genteel folks who can’t handle too much spice eat it with eggplant roasted and mashed. People from Chittagong eat a lot of spicy food! Oh sorry! What am I telling you! You’re a spoiled rich boy after all. All those chocolates and ice creams you feed your girlfriends—I can’t even pronounce their names! Hershey’s, Cadbury, Snickers, KitKat……… Good God! My teeth are aching! Well, curious minds want to know—where do you procure these pampered, mummy-daddy type girlfriends?
Tell me, you became a BCS expert after taking the exam just once, didn’t you? (I heard you failed the prelims the first two times though. Is that story true?) Why didn’t you have time to answer my question the other day? Does it boost your ego when someone calls, or what? You know, I called you with pen and paper ready. I’m just filling out the form with two simple choices. Either it happens or it doesn’t. At home, everyone’s absolutely thrilled with the job I got. According to them, I don’t even need to take the BCS anymore. They say I’ll get posted to some village. They think my current job is just fine. Actually, I have no problem with villages except for the bathroom situation. (I only miss the city when I need to take a dump.) In fact, it’s even better. For some reason, village people really like me and love me very, very much. Villages are a cool thing, brother! Have you ever been to a village, O Great Dulal of Easy-Come-Easy-Go? Wait, I didn’t mention where I got the job, did I? Geological Survey of Bangladesh, GSB for short. I’ll be able to go abroad just like you! Or maybe even a bit more than you. You go to the land of shorties! I’ll go to the land of tall people! I’ll take pictures with bearded, dashing tall folks and send them to you. Just looking at your attitude, I can already tell how hideous you’d look with a beard. Don’t you have lice in your hair? You’ll get them in your beard too! Absolutely, absolutely, absolutely! Just watch! Well, could you tell me the differences between first-class cadre and non-cadre positions? I actually had a question about studies too. But the mountain of attitude you showed! My heart burned to ashes! Why should a man have so much attitude? A beautiful woman calls you, and instead of having a sweet, loving conversation, you act all high and mighty! Hmph! What a pompous fool! No matter! I’m not in any hurry—when I start studying, I’ll need to know that stuff. I can just ask someone else then.
Well, sorry, you have to stay busy like politicians, don’t you? Did I ramble too much? Let me say one thing before I forget. You told me to be careful, that Rajshahi gets really cold… blah blah blah… aren’t you in Dhaka? You’re among the strangest kinds of people in the world. You be extra careful. People are scarier than winter! And listen, the memory of driving around with you is etched in my mind, you know that, right? Flashback is even hotter… doesn’t feel cold at all. Hehehe… (I laughed like a girl though!)
Have a blast today, tomorrow you can work yourself to death!
Will you live tomorrow—what’s the guarantee? Whatever life you have, live it today!
If you really die tomorrow, you’ll win, life will lose!
And if you keep living, life will win, you’ll lose!
If life remains, you’ll die; if life ends, you alone will survive!
Who knows the secret of life! If you gamble with life—either you’ll live crying forever, or die laughing this very moment!
The wise one pays fate’s debt with life!
The fool pays life’s debt with fate!
I read it… Hey, you magical being! How did you manage to write this!!! This is all about my own life! Do you know how to read mirrors?
Shall I tell you something true? While writing to you or teasing you, you somehow… I don’t know how to put it… became so very close to me. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. If I feel even a pinch of sadness about closing Facebook, then eighty percent of that pinch—no, let’s say ninety-nine percent—is because of you, meaning I won’t be able to see you. Though I was never close to you, it still feels like I’m going somewhere far away. But don’t worry, I’ll reactivate my account from time to time. Please keep making everyone laugh. And write funny comments without hurting anyone, okay? Don’t make others feel bad out of envy just because your own heart is always heavy. Let others not know, but I know how utterly alone celebrities are! Those who are very lonely, really, have no choice but to become celebrities. They’re alone, and on top of that, introverted, they don’t mix with people, they don’t really have friends, and those around them are all scheming opportunists. But they too want to be someone special. They want to see themselves as somebody in society’s eyes. So they hide all their helplessness and tears and suddenly become celebrities! Three Rs ruin all the happiness in the world—Reputation, Recognition, Restriction. Those who have these in their lives, their lives are nothing but constant struggle. And a celebrity’s life is entirely made of those three Rs! Living as the best in the world is very painful. The moment someone becomes the best, they automatically become the public’s enemy for no good reason. I’ve seen how lonely people become once they reach number one! Watch Mithun Chakraborty’s ‘Dance Dance.’ There’s a sequence where the heroine’s father is being partial about giving her more and more shows to push her to the top, and Mithun says, “Ek baar star ho ke dekho, log kitne akele ban jaate hain!” Mithun was injured. (You don’t understand Hindi, so let me explain. Once you become a star, see how alone people become!) It’s not that great a movie, but the words left a mark on my young mind. Even today I think, how true those words are! Forget all these stories. And yes, the birthday pictures turned out beautiful. Why do you wear such shiny clothes? Can’t you wear cotton? The light reflects off the fabric and hits my eyes! I’m a devotee of darkness, so I suffer terribly when light comes and strikes my eyes. The lighthouse is beautiful. You go on and on about lighthouses! I really want to see that shop! Well, let’s see, next time I go to Chittagong I’ll have to visit there. You go there at night, don’t you? That means I’ll have to go during the day or evening. Hahaha… is it always open? Keep that address status up! Don’t delete it. Well, let’s see! When will I ever get a big job! When will I have money to buy books. Whether I’ll ever manage to go there! And then there’s the matter of the address! As if getting the address of such a big bookshop is any trouble at all?
The Granthik,
Do you think that just because I write to you so much, I’m extremely patient? That I have patience—this is the first time in my life I’ve heard such a thing. No one says this about me. Only I know it. I keep all my patience hidden. But… how did you know this story? Actually, you just guessed, but you hit the mark! Isn’t that right? But the reason you said it—that’s not right. I write because I enjoy writing, that’s why I write. Patience has nothing to do with it. What about you—don’t you write because you enjoy it? I just don’t find people worth writing to. Whoever I might write to—I mean, people I know—they’ll either write back or pester me, so I don’t tell them anything. And I don’t trust strangers at all. If someone writes, and that means they have lots of time, then no one has more time than you! I write to you, but you write to thousands of people! So should I tell you that you have so much patience, and therefore you should now count the hairs on my head? Ehhhh! You’re quite the schemer, aren’t you? Always trying to sweet-talk others into doing your work, right?
I’m quite the devil—haven’t you figured that out yet? People who have others to help them or can do the work themselves—I will never help them, not in this lifetime. I’m for the helpless. Still, I was tempted to do your work for my own sake—then I could have seen your English scribblings, learned something from them, but no! No way, it’s not happening! Sorry! I’ll read those things when I make time for it myself. Collecting all the Facebook posts of a highly productive creature like you into one file! Do you understand what an enormous amount of drudgery that is? And how did you figure out that I’m such a donkey? How did you realize that it’s easy to make me work by tempting me with tea or speaking sweetly? How does everyone figure this out? I never go around telling anyone that I’m a donkey! What is it that everyone sees in me? Still, now you’re calling me a devotee! I would have been happy to do your work, but believe me, I’m not getting even a moment for myself. I have so much work piled up, I can’t even finish those things. The task I want to do most—organizing my desk—even that’s not getting done. My favorite work, and the work I’m most expert at—making routines—even that’s not happening. I’m sure no one has the ability like me to make routines every day with fresh enthusiasm and without laziness. I never get tired of it. Yet I’m not even getting time to do that! On top of that, this new Facebook demon has started tormenting me! This is why I want to escape from this virtual prison! But I can’t even do that! I knowingly chew and swallow poison! My mood gets ruined! Is there any other such voluntary imprisonment?
The moment I tried to grab Facebook’s ghost by the ear and shake it off my neck, you appeared! Why, good sir? And then you had to go and tell me not to turn off Facebook. My willpower is weak. And I think I’m becoming a little fond of you without any reason. (I say “I think,” but!) If you forbid it, I truly might not be able to shut down Facebook anymore. And even if I do manage it, it’ll gnaw at my mind. Please, please tell me: “Yes, you can close that account.” I’m really getting sick of using this thing. I’m already exhausted after just two days of chattering with friends. And whenever I like anything of theirs, they knock me up, and if I don’t respond to their messages they’ll get hurt, so I have to keep the conversation going. Then again I hear: “I know you’re online, why are you acting up?” I really do need some rest. Just once, tell me it’s okay to move away from here—I mean, give me permission to shut it down. I’ll come back in a couple of days anyway! Right now I want to study a little. Brother, I’m not a genius like you. I can’t handle two things at once. Facebook just keeps tugging and tugging until it drags me to its house. I’m a bit autistic. And that disease the kid had in the movie ‘Taare Zameen Par’—I have that too. They call it dyslexia or something. I’m not putting on an act, it’s true. I have the condition, though it’s mild. Looking deeper, old people get a disease, don’t they—Alzheimer’s or something… the one my grandfather has? Well that… it’s an open secret—I’ve had it since birth! Have you ever heard of someone forgetting how to spell their own name? I’m not joking, I swear to God, this has happened to me several times. And not being able to find things or forgetting where I put them, and getting scolded—that’s like daily bread and rice. They say this disease only affects the highly gifted, even before they get old? So am I also…? Hehehe
Listen, won’t I be able to bother you anymore? At least until I get a job? Don’t think I’m so shameless that I’ll keep pestering you even when you’re out with your wife and children. What then! I’ll pester the Creator instead! Or… I don’t know who! Or maybe I’ll just go back to how I used to be before I started bothering you! Those who have no one to bother are very sad—they’re truly helpless. I know this. But then again, suppose you have someone to bother, and then somehow that person just vanishes into thin air—that’s even more painful! It’s better that life goes on fine without anyone to bother. You see, brother, life is a strange thing—somehow or other it always finds its own way! You’re successful, popular, and now in your thirties, which means you’re perfect for marriage. Don’t they say this at your house too? What? They don’t? Why haven’t you gotten married yet? Get married, bring home a lovely little bride, then a baby will come, cute as a flower… wah wah wah! Eeeee… stop stop stop! I’m getting sad!!! I feel like crying!!! Why? Hahaha… you got it wrong, sir! Don’t you know I’m an ocean of compassion? I feel like crying thinking about your future life companion—I mean, that poor woman’s unfortunate fate!
Listen,
I think you’ve become a bit of a jinx for me! You became my friend and then I couldn’t get into my Facebook account at all. Let me bring up another important matter. Five-eleven is veeeery tall, you know. Don’t act so casual about being that tall. My father and uncles aren’t particularly tall, actually! But my maternal grandfather’s family is a different story. Let me tell you about them. The uncle who’s called Guddu at grandfather’s house is five-eleven. See? The rest are all over six feet. And thank you for not even thinking of women as human beings, but considering them goddesses instead. I hadn’t thought of it that way. But there’s no need to put women on such a pedestal for no reason, brother. When you get deceived, that’s when you’ll understand what women really are!
I’m going to Dhaka tomorrow to take care of my sister. I’ll miss you again. Coming to the tutoring matter, you’re a big shot now, some kind of idol for the youngsters or whatever; even so, why don’t you forget the old days? Huh? Sorry again for bothering you. I didn’t know the story. Sorry sorry sorry. I actually had no idea that you were first in IBA. I found out that day in the car. I see you’re a real… well, I mean… Although I have absolutely no fascination for IBA, I was still impressed. (Don’t think again that I’m making up excuses saying I have no fascination, after seeing the tough questions in IBA admission tests.) Even though I foam at the mouth talking about being a first boy, if I’m being honest, these things never really attracted me. They truly didn’t. What does attract me? Only the Creator knows! I never had any fascination for first boys and toppers. For some reason, seeing them makes me laugh, makes me want to grab them and tickle them! I know this isn’t believable. You won’t believe it either. Let me drop my own case, you’re everyone’s hero now, brother! Everyone wants to be like you, think about these things. Why think about old times? And, well, did you only teach? Didn’t you teach that student how to respect a teacher? And why did you give so much importance to a little boy anyway? Think about now. Stay relaxed. Look at me, boss, I’m also a bit of an idol, but from the opposite direction. When my aunts scold their daughters, they use me as an example of what not to become. I’m used as a negative example, brother. All I hear are nasty things about myself. I’d heard my aunt’s words before, heard my other aunt’s this time when I went to Dhaka. There’s a little sister who, without knowing or understanding, blabbered and told me all the things her mother says when scolding her older sister. So what? Do I cry like you? I know that I won’t see them anymore at some point, so let them say whatever they want! I grew up in a joint family loving everyone, and I still do. I’m crazy about myself, but I don’t love myself that much, so I don’t get angry at anyone’s words either. I really think I’ll live alone. There’s no boy behind this thought though. I don’t know what will happen, don’t know if I’ll be able to do it, but that’s my plan.
I can spend hours upon hours just gazing at the sky, happily content. When people hear this or see me doing it, they give me these strange, pitying looks, but no one understands that I genuinely want to be alone and enjoy it. They think, “Oh, poor thing!” Nobody believes I’m actually happy this way! Men find me cartoonish! There, I’ve stolen your dialogue! What’s even more ridiculous is that women find me the same way! And I find myself the biggest cartoon of all! But you have one thing wrong about me. Just as I can love deeply, I can hate just as fiercely. Just as I melt at the smallest thing—my tears come cheap—there’s nobody as cruel as I can be. I fell into a trap of false love, and though I could have twisted and squirmed my way out, I deliberately chose not to. No, don’t misunderstand me—all that virtue and chastity business isn’t that important to me, at least not more important than life itself or than I am to myself. Sleeping with someone doesn’t mean I have to spend the rest of my life in bed with them, even if I died! Where do these girls get such stupid philosophies? If I could grab hold of those ideas and smash them to bits, it would bring me peace! The truth is, I was trapped in another snare, gritting my teeth with a death wish in my heart and infinite disgust, which is why I deliberately didn’t escape from that first love-trap. Anyway, none of this matters. Reading your piece made me feel something strange again. I know you can never understand someone’s feelings without being in their place, but believe me, as I was reading and imagining it all, I felt like you didn’t take that slap—I did. I can see through other people’s eyes and minds. I have this strange ability. Really! You’re nobody to me, yet if I wanted, your sadness would make me sad too. That’s how it is! Celebrities get all kinds of fans, so consider that you’ve gotten a fan like me—a rustic, notorious, tyrannical, worthless, and disgusting person. What can you do! Accept it! I’m not anything great like you, but I’ve created some imaginary connections between us. Maybe there are no similarities at all! It’s all fake! All of this is myyyyyyy… made-up nonsense! Whatever the case, for my own sake, I want you to stay happy and cheerful. Don’t suffer thinking about the past. You have a beautiful present. Can’t we live with that? Just don’t think about the bad stuff! I avoid all that pain and trouble, brother! It’s such a short life—and not even a particularly useful one at that! What’s the point of all this suffering, dear? Well, if I take my laptop with me, I might read your writing from another account of mine. Please write long status updates. Oh no! I said it out loud! Whenever I tell someone about something before doing it, I can’t do that thing anymore. Now I’m done for! Fine, I won’t read them. Damn it!