Time to Think, Time to Make Think

I am Shayla. My family home is in Potiya, Chittagong. We are three sisters and one brother. I am the eldest. Our village house has a tin roof. There's a small courtyard in front, and behind the house stands a row of various trees—coconut palms, banana trees, and others.

There are two neighborhoods side by side. One is called Pashchimpara, the other Purpara. We live in Pashchimpara. Next to us are two villages. The neighboring village is called Golaigram.
This is a story from long ago. Father was young and strong then. As his birthright inheritance of poverty, Father too had become poor by tradition. Father worked as a mason. He did all the masonry work for one house in Golaigram. Right next to the house where he worked lived a girl named Rumana.
Father went to Golaigram regularly for work. He didn't have much money—he was a poor man—but he was incredibly cheerful, spirited, and generous. And he had an exceedingly tender heart. There's no record of Father ever willingly killing even a cockroach with his own hands. He would never unnecessarily kill even a mouse. He walked so carefully, afraid that he might accidentally crush an ant underfoot. Such was his compassionate nature.
No matter how poverty might tear Father apart, the smile on his face never faded. Seeing this ever-cheerful, generous, kind-hearted Father, the girl named Rumana fell in love. She was from a reasonably well-to-do family. Thus began their love story. Somehow Rumana's family found out about it. They would never hand Rumana over to some destitute mason boy. But love doesn't heed such things, doesn't care about such boundaries.
One evening, Father took Rumana straight to the registrar's office and married her. Through countless storms and upheavals, abandoning her grand house, Rumana came to live in a tin-roofed home of want, becoming the wife of a day laborer. That rich man's darling daughter, Rumana, is my mother. She fell in love with and married a day laborer, poor, hardworking, simple-hearted—my father. Though there was want in the house, there was no shortage of love. It was like a rustic staging of Satyajit Ray's "Apur Sansar."
The following year, I came into the world, lighting up their home. Gradually my two other sisters and one brother were born. As the family grew, so did the weight of our privations. Father is a good man, but being good alone isn't enough excuse for not being poor. Father could no longer manage, struggling to make ends meet. Household expenses kept rising. The hungry mouths' hunger kept growing too.
When girls from poor homes marry into wealthy families, they somehow become unrealistic, arrogant, and ill-mannered. On the other hand, when girls from wealthy homes marry into poor families, they become very practical, humble, and gentle. I've often seen this happen.
Whatever the case, my mother started doing tailoring work. She wanted all of us to study. To that end, I was sent to the city to live with a cousin and pursue my education. After coming to my cousin's house, I became somewhat like a captive person. Rather like a parrot caged—wings intact, but unable to truly fly.
As a student, I was mediocre. I don't have a single record of getting an A+ in any subject throughout my entire academic life. I have no particular regret about this—just being able to pass made me very, very happy! I wasn't someone who got good results; I was merely someone who passed.
Somehow managing to pass my intermediate exams, I got admitted to honors at Chittagong College. I continued my studies living at that same cousin's house. My cousin is married and has two children.
Her husband lived abroad.
This was how my captive life continued. I would leave home, go to college, return home. I never went shopping or hung out with friends. My circle of friends was very small too. For some reason, I never had any remarkable friendships. Perhaps I wasn't particularly sociable either.
I had a Nokia 1100 model mobile phone to talk with my parents. I didn't have an expensive smartphone like today's young people. This was how my days passed by.
2010. One evening. A night of full moon. The moonlight seemed to carry the world away. I was drowning in that moonlight. Sitting on the rooftop, I was basking in the lunar glow. Suddenly my phone rang from a GP number. As soon as I answered, a boy's gentle voice said from the other end, "Is this Preeti's number?" I said "no," gave the reply "wrong number," and cut the line.
The very next moment, that same number called again. This time when I got angry, the boy spoke in such a soft voice. "Ma'am, I wasn't looking for Preeti, I was looking for you. Right now you're basking in moonlight, lost in thought, thinking about many things. Perhaps secretly searching for someone. What? Are you very surprised?" Hearing this, I was indeed somewhat amazed.
I was scolding the boy in bewilderment. I kept saying, "Please hang up. I'm not the person you called." Hearing my words, he laughed softly. There was a kind of mystery in that laughter. His way of talking was somehow endearing. I noticed with surprise that I was actually enjoying listening to the boy's words. Even though I was scolding him irritably, I wasn't hanging up. I was quite enjoying his poetic words. This was the first time I had talked to a man on the phone for so long. It was a first experience in my life.
Meanwhile, the boy seemed to pay no heed to my scolding. Whatever I said, he continued talking with me very politely and sweetly, with great patience, not taking anything to heart. That time we talked for nearly half an hour. Amidst various conversations, the introduction was complete. His name was Rafi. He lived in Chittagong. He was a final-year honors student at Government Commerce College. I was a very simple kind of girl. I grew very fond of him because of his behavior and conversation.
The next evening. My heart felt restless somehow. I went to the rooftop again. The small courtyard was flooded with moonlight. I gazed at the moon as if swallowing the moonlight, thinking only of that boy. I thought, ah, if only he would call! I was waiting and smiling softly.
A little later, he really did call. I was amazed! As soon as I answered the phone, the boy said from the other end, "What, ma'am! You must be enjoying the moonlight!" And laughed with such an enchanting voice. I showed no anger at all, as if I had fallen in love with him. Talking with him felt wonderful.
This is how our conversations continued. Day after day, night after night our talks went on. I regularly inquired about him, and he regularly inquired about me. A kind of dependent relationship developed between us. What I did from morning onwards, what he did, how the whole day passed, what we did all day, what we didn't do, what we saw, what we didn't see. Everything became conversation. From morning till night, our romance - our chats - our playful banter continued.
At some point I learned that Rafi actually knew me from before and was previously acquainted with my cousin.
And so our conversations continued until we reached a point where we both fell in love. We became utterly enchanted by each other. My days were flowing beautifully. The world seemed like a piece of the moon to me. Being in love—this feeling is the most joyous sensation in the world. To be able to fall in love is an enormous blessing. I had achieved this blessing. This was pure bliss.
Rafi was two and a half years my senior. Days, months, years passed, and our love, our affection, our relationship continued until we reached the beginning of our second year together. Strangely, in those two years of daily texting and phone conversations, we had never once met face to face. I had fallen in love with that voice on the other end of the mobile phone. What he looked like had never really mattered much to me.
Eventually my cousin found out about Rafi. For some unknown reason, my cousin forbade me from talking to Rafi. He told me to cut off all contact. Breaking free from a two-year habit isn't easy. Two whole years! In those two years, I had spent countless hours, minutes, seconds with that voice. You can't just forget something like that, even if you wanted to.
My cousin forcibly severed all my connections with Rafi. He called my parents and told them many things about me. After that, he took away my mobile phone. Since our communication was phone-centered, the separation began.
Even after cutting contact, I couldn't forget Rafi. Rafi hadn't forgotten me either. He regularly inquired about me, though I had no way to seek news of him—I wasn't given that opportunity.
Nearly six months passed in this disconnection. The time without him was terribly harsh, melancholy, tasteless.
Then I opened Facebook through one of my friends. She taught me how to use it. I already knew Rafi had Facebook. I began searching for him, trying his full name in different ways. Many Rafis appeared, but I couldn't quite identify him—after all, I had never seen him.
Many days passed like this. I kept searching for him frantically. One day a message appeared in my Facebook inbox. Opening it, I saw someone named Rafi Ahmed had sent a 'hello.' Chatting with that profile, I realized—this was my Rafi! I was beside myself with joy! After our long separation, I was back in touch with Rafi. His phone had been lost, so he gave me his new number. I gave him mine too. We began talking again like before. So many, many conversations! After our long separation, we decided to meet face to face this time. At his request, we arranged to meet at my college. He would stand in front of the college gate wearing a blue shirt.
I was tremendously excited. The man I had loved for two years without seeing him, the man I had loved for two whole years without any physical form—I was going to meet him. First love's first sight. What a heavenly feeling! Causeless restlessness, strange shyness, a kind of nervous fear.
That morning arrived. I wore the blue dress he loved. I put on light pink lipstick. I braided my hair to one side. I placed a small dot right in the center of my forehead. Rafi loved black bindis. Today we would meet. I went to college. Coming out of class, I stood at the gate.
I cast curious glances this way and that. Suddenly I noticed him standing beneath the large jaarul tree in front of the college. He wore a blue shirt and black jeans. His hair danced in the wind.

With trembling steps I slowly walked up and stood before him. My hands and feet had gone cold. I was shaking constantly. My head hung low. I couldn't look into his eyes, paralyzed by shame and hesitation. Breaking through my inhibition, I raised my head and stole sidelong glances at him.

He was somewhat short in stature. Average build with a trim, neat body. Light-powered glasses framed his eyes. His skin was the color of clouds. He looked utterly ordinary, yet to me he seemed the most beautiful person in the world. Though not particularly striking to look at, his modest physical frame paled into insignificance before two years of intense love.

Some time passed this way. Suddenly he lifted his head and looked at me with such tender eyes, offering a gentle smile. In that moment it felt as though we had known each other for ages upon ages. As if this acquaintance of ours stretched back through countless eras. We were old, old friends.

Of course, though this was my first time seeing him, he had noticed me long before. He had been drawn to me from the start.

From that day forward, our love seemed to begin anew. He asked me for a year and a half. In this time he would get his life in order and marry me. From then on we met regularly. Facebook bridged much of our distance. We would go out together, eat fuchka, and get drenched in the rain. Sometimes, sitting before the fuchka vendor with a plate in one hand, he would take my hand with the other and gaze into my eyes for hours on end. That look held complete love, a strange kind of power.

After we met, our relationship grew even stronger. I focused on my studies. He too began applying to various places. We decided that as soon as either of us found a job, we would set up house together. Even if it was under a tin roof, or thatched, or in some attic—we would make do together. We began dreaming of living as one. My entire day would pass thinking of him. Ah, what ups and downs, what obstacles we had overcome to come together! Morning would begin with thoughts of him, afternoon would unfold around him, evening would deepen into night as I dreamed of him. I began dreaming of a household centered around him. We would have a home, two little children would fill our rooms. Our household would overflow with love. I was becoming intoxicated by these dreams.

Days rolled on, months passed.

Suddenly I began to notice gradual changes in him. He no longer wanted to meet as before. He didn't call repeatedly as he used to. He didn't send messages like before. I was deeply hurt by this sudden indifference. My love for him and the pile of dreams kept growing day by day. Meanwhile, his interest in me, his love, his care—everything seemed to diminish somehow. The more I tried to draw him close, the more he seemed to pull away with double the force. The more I longed to make him mine, the more he fled from me.

My entire world turned upside down. His neglect was breaking me down each day. Apart from him, no one else appealed to me—love was completely out of the question. God has given no one the strength to bear neglect from their beloved.

Days pass, time moves forward.
The more my heart yearned for him, the more his indifference toward me grew. The person I used to speak with thirty to forty times a day, from dawn to late night, now didn't find it necessary to call even once all day. The one whose messages used to begin my mornings—even after morning turned to afternoon, afternoon to evening, evening to night—not a single message would come from him.
Whenever I called him, he'd show me how busy he was. When I sent messages, they always remained unseen. I understood that perhaps my importance in his life had run its course, but his importance in my life kept growing. The rate at which he was neglecting me, my interest in him was increasing twofold. I simply couldn't live without him anymore! What a wretched state of affairs!
Managing the blow of session jams, I finished my honors degree. I began taking various job exams. Meanwhile, I completed my master's as well. And through it all, I was drowning deeper into loneliness each day. Eventually, I fell into severe depression.
Being born into a poor family meant I had to survive by tutoring. I'd even covered many of Rafi's expenses at different times. I never thought of Rafi's expenses as separate from my own. His expenses were our expenses. Being the eldest in the family, my responsibilities were greater too. Girls from poor families like me can't afford to just dwell on love and romance.
By then, I'd moved out of my cousin's place into a bachelor's flat. Three people in one room. We lived packed together. To ease my depression and keep myself busier, I took on two more tutoring jobs in addition to my existing three. Five tutoring jobs in total. I taught all day long. I was going to educate every single child in the world! After my personal expenses, whatever money was left over, I'd send to my father. Let him live a little better. He'd done so much for us, was still doing so much. I couldn't do anything for them in return.
No matter how busy I kept myself, I couldn't forget him. I couldn't accept his behavior toward me. What fault was mine? I couldn't figure out what mistake I had made! Sometimes I wanted to kill myself. What would happen if I just left? But when the faces of my helpless father and mother floated before my eyes, I couldn't quite summon the courage. What fault did those people have? Why should I make them cry? The truth is, suicide requires far more courage than sorrow and suffering. Though I had plenty of sorrow, I lacked the courage, it seemed. So even suicide remained beyond my reach.
No matter how hard I tried to distance myself from Rafi, my heart simply wouldn't comply. The truth is, the longer a relationship lasts—whether the love is less or more—certain habits inevitably form. And those don't just disappear; they remain. Man is slave to habit, after all. Perhaps he had become my habit, which is why my heart kept wanting him again and again.
One day. I desperately wanted to see him. Nothing more—even seeing him from a distance would suffice. After thirty-seven calls, he finally answered. The moment he picked up, he acted extremely busy and said, "I'll call you back in a bit, okay?" That "bit" never came. Two days passed, and he never called back. Meanwhile, I waited for his call like a fool. I called again. I found his line constantly engaged. Every time I tried calling him, he was always on another call.
It's as if he doesn't even care to see my calls!
After calling him twenty-one times straight, I finally reach him. He gets terribly annoyed with me, throwing around various excuses about being busy. I tell him, "Will you meet me just once? I want to see you for a bit. Even five minutes would do. Five minutes means exactly five minutes—four minutes and sixty seconds. I really want to see you. Where are you? Should I come? Can I just see you for a moment?"
He can't meet me. He made that crystal clear. He's very busy. Forget five minutes to spare for me—he doesn't even have five seconds to give. He said it so matter-of-factly. I realized that Rafi can just say things now. Rafi has learned to say all sorts of things. He couldn't do that before. People can learn so many things. But why can't I?
That night I cried terribly. I felt helpless. The world seemed fragmented and broken to pieces. I felt like there was no solid ground beneath my feet. I was mourning a home that had crumbled before it was even built. All I could see was darkness spreading before my eyes.
The next day it rained heavily. I went up to the roof and got soaked to my heart's content. I catch cold very easily. I'm forbidden from getting wet in the rain. I thought, let me catch a cold if I must, let fever come if it will! As I stood there drenched in the rain, I was making a vow—if I survive this, I'll never meet him again. Let the rain wash away all my memories. From today onwards, I'll become a different person.
I got so thoroughly soaked that night that I came down with a terrible fever. My body was burning up. My cousin came to get me. She took me to her place and nursed me with great care. Rafi had learned about my illness too. Yet he never called me once. He didn't want to see me. He didn't even send a single message. He has no need for any news of me today. Even if I died, it wouldn't matter to him. How do people change so completely? My illness was causing me pain, but Rafi's behavior was hurting me a hundred times more.
After suffering through four days of fever, I somehow recovered. Meanwhile, I kept taking exams at various places.
I learned from my cousin that Rafi had gotten a job at a company. The salary was pretty decent. For some reason, I had hoped that maybe he would call to tell me the news. That he would talk about our little dream home we'd painted in shades of red and blue. I felt deeply hurt. The person whose life I had been woven into at every turn—that same person didn't even share such big good news from his life with me! All sorts of other thoughts started crowding my mind!... Yet I was completely well then. How do such strange thoughts enter someone's head even when they're not delirious with fever? They come to women. Women can dream foolish little dreams of staying alive even at the very moment before descending into the grave!
I began to feel terribly small. Rafi told my cousin that I apparently had no qualifications whatsoever to be his wife! Hearing his words, I too began to feel myself utterly unworthy.
I thought, that's right! I'm not worthy of Rafi! If I had been, then Rafi couldn't have left me like this. Once upon a time, in worldly terms, he himself wasn't worthy of me, yet I had kept him worthy in my eyes day after day. I dreamed with him. But after joining a job, how easily he deemed me unworthy. People are capable of anything!
Brushing aside all my ego, I called him. At least let me offer my congratulations!
No shame or hesitation was working in me, only a kind of reckless courage. I called 26 times, not once did she pick up. Then she blocked my number.
Since then, my contact with Rafi was cut off. She never called, and with my number blocked on her end, whenever I called from another number, recognizing my voice, she would immediately block that one too.
I began studying day and night. I needed a job, whatever it took. I was frantically job hunting. Taking exams at various government banks. Nothing worked. I appeared for the BCS twice. Made it to the interviews, but that was it. Nothing was happening for me anywhere. My life was still hanging in the air. The tutoring continued. That's how I was surviving. Meanwhile, my depression was growing day by day. I crossed 27.
April 14, 2017. I learned that day was Rafi's wedding. She called my cousin to invite her to the wedding. Casually, she also mentioned that her family would never accept a girl from a poor family like mine. Looks aren't everything, after all—you need family too. My family didn't match theirs. She said many other things. She was marrying a colleague. The girl's father had plenty of money. After marriage, they would take care of Rafi.
After all this time, I learned that my father's poverty was the only reason for leaving me! Yet she had known about my family's situation from the beginning. I had hidden nothing from her. Some men exist who need not just the girl to be 'taken care of,' but her father too.
In terrible pain and humiliation, I dissolved into the ground. The poverty I had always considered my strength was, in the eyes of my most beloved person, my inadequacy!
I cried so much that night. Keeping the futile desire to embrace the night's darkness tight within my chest, I wept with my face pressed into the pillow. In those tears was the pain of lost love, but more than that was the anguish of being humiliated, a kind of torment of being betrayed. I remembered my Lord. I raised both hands to the Creator asking for help. Such punishment without any crime cannot be accepted!
Several more days passed like this.
One Sunday. The sky full of moonlight. Just like the first day I spoke with Rafi, the same light everywhere. The moon melting and pouring light across my rooftop. A countless festival of stars spread across the entire chest of the sky. On a nearby building's balcony, a husband and wife with their small child. All three were absorbed in playful banter. My heart cried out with a wailing sound. If Rafi had been in my life, perhaps we would have had such a home too. Breaking and shattering my cherished domestic dream, Rafi was blissfully building a home with someone else. Ah, life! Ah, life! Oh love! Does she really never think of me, not even once? Don't these years of love leave even a small mark on her mind? How can a person be so cruel?
My insides were burning up. It felt as if someone had poured fresh acid on my chest, and I was gradually burning away! I was thinking of Rafi like a madman. Why was I missing her so much today? Without thinking, I picked up my mobile and called her number. The call went through! That meant she had unblocked me! Ah! She picked up immediately! I broke down crying. That full moon night was witness, that rooftop, and that blazing moon!
Before my eyes lay the ghastly nightmare of a household!
I'm crying like a child! Screaming and sobbing. So much grief has gathered in my chest. I can barely breathe through my tears. Today I have nothing left. I've lost everything. I am finished. The entire sky is crashing down on my head!
Rafi says nothing. After a moment of silence, he laughs and says, "Shayla, sorry. I didn't have your number saved, so I couldn't recognize you. Take care, and never call me again."
With just those words, he cuts the call and blocks my number again. I can never reach him now. How will I free myself from Rafi's grip? Why do I feel no anger? Why isn't there even a trace of shame working in me? Does love make a person this shameless?
That night I took several sleeping pills and slept.
And so it went for several more days. I don't eat properly, don't sleep, don't go out unless absolutely necessary. I just read and cry. My world was small before; now it has become even smaller.
The BCS exam results are due soon. I've already given Taniya my roll number. I told her to check my result when it comes out.
One day. My mood is terrible. I'm holding the window grills, staring outside with melancholy eyes. Suddenly! Taniya's call! I answer. She screams to tell me the results came out just now. I ranked 112th in Administration! She got 96th!
I quickly got on the internet. Downloaded the PDF file of the results from the PSC website. I check and see—my roll number is really there! I couldn't believe my own eyes. This happens too! Someone like me can get a job! An unworthy person has gotten a job! I became ecstatic with joy and happiness. My entire world changed in an instant! From today, I am someone else.
That Rafi from Habib Group who got a mediocre job and threw me away like cheap tissue paper, just because I'm a poor man's daughter, because my father is just a day laborer—let him come and see what Allah has given me today! Today is my day alone! From today I am no longer insignificant, from today I too have an identity worth having!
Lost in these thoughts, all my sorrows and sufferings vanished somewhere in an instant. One result, one job! These two together seemed to transform my entire life! I felt a strange power within myself. Today the world feels like it's in the palm of my hand. After so many years, today I'm screaming and crying with joy! Tears are bursting from my broken heart! This crying is from happiness, this crying is from victory, this crying is the joy of getting back up after stumbling and falling.
I called my parents. Hearing the news, both of them broke down sobbing. I'm crying along with them. For the first time in my life, my parents and I are crying in celebration. I love this crying so much. I wish this crying could continue for decades! The more I cry, the more the stones of accumulated pain in my chest are coming out one by one. I think it's good to have some stones in the chest. Very heavy stones. When you have stones, you want to get them out. If they weren't there, would that desire ever come?
This news spread like wildfire to all my relatives and friends. A day laborer's daughter became a high-ranking government officer in a flash, just by the strength of one result. Meanwhile, my phone is flooded with countless calls and messages.
So many people are calling me now—the very ones who wouldn't have picked up if I called them, recognizing my number! How the world has changed in an instant! The same me who could never find anyone to share my sorrows with, who never got through to anyone—now my phone is caught in a storm of calls! Those who once had no time to answer my calls—now I have no time to answer theirs. I'm not returning anything to anyone, yet everyone is getting everything back! No one knows when or how Allah makes someone whole. Ah, life shows us so much!
I went to the village that very day. Today is my Eid! Two days passed in pure joy. Relatives and friends came in groups to our broken-down house to congratulate me. My mother kept breaking into tears of happiness. My uneducated father kept calling everyone over to show them my roll number on the printed hard copy of my results. Just a simple number, and today even that is priceless!
Suddenly I see Rafi's number calling. I don't have time to answer his call. Today is my day of being busy. Rafi called Shayla fifteen times straight! The phone rings again. I'm staring at the mobile screen. Not picking up. I'm thinking—there was a time when I used to call him restlessly like this, again and again, and he would just stare at his phone screen with indifference, exactly like this. This repeated incoming call today is giving me a kind of joy. Twenty-three missed calls. I didn't pick up. Well, why couldn't Rafi understand that Shayla wouldn't answer?
Today the time has come for confrontation. Today the time has come to answer many unresolved questions. Today the time has come to heal all my wounds. Today the time has come...to give a fitting reply to those who thought me cheap and threw me away like tissue paper, day after day.
I said nothing to anyone. I didn't need to say anything. Yet they've all received their answer. This is magic, this is the ultimate response!
Many days passed this way. I'm working with dedication. Day by day, responsibilities and busyness increase. Time has made me much busier. I barely think of Rafi. I don't even have time to remember him. After the results, he and I never spoke again. Today I have so many people to talk to. Shayla Parveen Sumi, Assistant Commissioner and Executive Magistrate. She is truly very busy today. She has no sorrows. Busy people aren't allowed to have sorrows.
Rafi calls me sometimes. Why he does, I don't know.

I haven't blocked Rafi's number. Why I haven't, I know.
That day. I went to my cousin's friend's wedding. He repeatedly requested that I absolutely must attend the ceremony. I still know how to value people's love. When someone shows me respect, I've learned to show them respect too. Even in my busyness, I got permission from the DC sir and went to attend the wedding. Quite a grand affair. I'm sitting in a corner of the ceremony with a chair, talking with everyone. Suddenly I see Rafi in front of me with his wife. He's staring at me with amazement. I glanced once, threw him a mocking smile, and turned away.
I saw Rafi approaching me with a smile, wanting to introduce his wife to me. I hurriedly checked my watch, pretended not to notice Rafi, and quickly left. Rafi is probably thinking many thoughts as he stares after my departing figure.
I no longer have time to wonder what he's thinking.
Today is Rafir's time to think, and mine to make him think.