Game Changer

The only thing she couldn't do is love. Or so she said.

She writes, she fights on the streets with banners ablaze, she sings, acts and dances. She paints, too. She said she belongs to her political party first, then to her theatre group. She said she’s poly amorous and the person she lives with now is her comrade in politics, she loves for the politics. I could only fall in love. I asked her if there is anything she can’t do. She couldn't love. Or so she said.

I do not belong in her politics. I cannot do any of those things she does with an everyday ease. I do not know her beyond what she tells me. I know people are much more than what their affiliations make them, for affiliations change, dreams shift, allegiances are doubtable. She tells me she’s her theater, her politics, her institution but I know she is also a poet, a painter, a dreamer. We are a perfect recipe for disaster. Sorry, there’s no “we” in this. I’m a perfect recipe for disaster, my own catastrophe.

Is it necessary to deconstruct “love”? Do we need more than one word to describe it? If we do deconstruct, we will destroy the pleasure associated with it. Given, such pleasure comes from a very narrow, patriarchal, heterosexual, romantic understanding of relations between two human beings; do we need to throw that away? Are we to believe that one word has just one meaning and that is fixed, transcendental and timeless? In Bengali, the word analogous to “love” has come to connote a multiplicity of meanings. It is not anymore what it used to be. It is time bound and timeless, heterosexual and homosexual, romantic and postmodern, mono and poly amorous, simple and complex, all at once. It is that notion of love I have for her. Power of a language is often measured by the number of words it has for the same thing. When in a language, a single word has multiplicity of meanings, all subtly different from one another; I believe that is productive too.

What do I love about her? She’s young, enthusiastic and passionate but I love that white streak of hair more. She has beautiful hair, eyes and smile. She has a beautiful mind but I love her eyebrows more. When she moves around guarding her space with the grace of a boxer, I love her movements. When she sends me poems and asks me if I’m in love with her, I love her honesty. I suspect my love for her might be bodily and may stop at that only, I’m yet to find out and I may never do. I do not understand myself very well, nor do I wish to. I’m a confused being and I love my confusions. Doesn't she belong to her body too, when she sends me the photographs of her anklets? All of this has nothing to do with how she feels because she can’t love, or so she thinks.

For the last few days she has been silent. May be she is busy or she is busy with someone else. May be she just doesn't want to talk to me. I know all that. I have learnt not to expect. But she affects me. She inspires. I wish she surprises me. I like the gestures she makes to let me know I exist in her life. I asked her if she wants to meet me when I was in her city, she didn't answer. Next morning she called me to a poetry reading session and read a few poems. I was a face in the crowd, but she did let me know she has seen me. She sends me these photographs of poems, paintings, herself, her room. I am hooked to photographs, I guess she knows. May be I’m just another idiot, a piece in an elaborate play she has made for herself. This distrust is beautiful. It’s a pain and a pleasure.

Why is pleasure so bad I ask? Why must it be destroyed? Isn't it the only defense we have left when our lives are controlled by binomial logic? Isn't it the only place where we can still take the flight of fantasy where digital devices are yet to enter? I know she doesn't really exist in reality. I mean, she does but that’s not the person I love. I love the one who digitally sends me photos and poems, one who almost makes love with me, digitally. I slip into the symbolic every day. I cannot comprehend reality. My world otherwise is a very boring place. These are my escapes from reality. There is a place between the Symbolic and the Real, where the piece controls the game. It starts imagining. It does what it is not allowed to do and by that act of defiance, it comes into being. Every time the piece comes into being it changes the rules of the game. The player becomes the piece then. The player doesn't know that. No one does.  Like most of us, I am forced to live a reality I do not wish to acknowledge. Denial is my strongest defense. Denial is very productive for me. It has made me see new light. It has taught me, when everything becomes meaningless, we can deny meaning and live on.

She doesn't have to know all this because she can’t love. Or so she said.

কাউকে না লেখা চিঠি

এম.এ. ক্লাসে শিখেছিলাম, চিঠি সবসময় গন্তব্যে পৌঁছয়। চিঠি লেখার যেমন কেউ একটা থাকে, চিঠি পাবারও কেউ একটা থাকে। মোদ্দা কথা, চিঠির একটা উদ্দেশ্য থাকে। যার কোন উদ্দেশ্য নেই, সে চিঠি নয়। আজকাল কেউ চিঠি লেখেনা। E-mail করে। কে জানে কেন, e-mail-এ কিছুতেই সেই ব্যাপারটা থাকে না। হয়ত কুসংস্কার।

আমাকে কেউ চিঠি লেখেনা, আমিও কাউকে লিখি না। লেখার প্রয়োজনও নেই খুব একটা। E-mail আছে, sms আছে, chat আছে, whatsapp আছে... আরো কত কত উপায় যে আছে কাউকে কিছু একটা বলার, তার কোন ইয়ত্তা নেই। এই যে এখন যেটা লিখছি, সেটা তাই চিঠি কি না জানি না। কেন লিখছি তাও জানি না। কী যে লিখছি সেটা অবশ্য কোনদিনই জানতাম না, জানার প্রয়োজন বোধ করিনি। যাদের পাঠাতাম, তারাও জানতে চায়নি। উত্তরও দিয়েছে দিব্বি। দু’একজন ছাড়া। হয় বেশীরভাগ লোক পাগল, নয় আমাকে পাগল বলে মেনে নিয়েছে। অথবা যারা উত্তর দেয়নি তাদের অতো সময় নেই। আমার অফুরন্ত সময়। তার মানে এই নয় যে আমার কোনও কাজ নেই। ঢের আছে, অসংখ্য আছে। আমি সেগুলো করিনা। করতে ভালোলাগে না। ইচ্ছে করেনা। যা করতে ইচ্ছে করে, তাই করি। এই যেমন এখন চিঠি লিখছি। আমার taskbar-এ এই মুহুর্তে একটা film, একটা খেলা, একটা website, একটা chat খোলা রয়েছে। যার মানে আমি এই সবকটাই করছি। অথবা কোনটাই করছি না। কারণ ঠিক এই মুহুর্তে আমি লিখছি।এই রকম লেখাকে বোধহয় free-writing বলে। কারণ আমি কিছুই লেখার চেষ্টা করছি না। যা হাতে আসছে, তাই বেরোচ্ছে। এই লেখা কাউকে পড়াবার দায় নেই, সময়ে শেষ করার তাড়া নেই, সত্যি বলতে কি এ লেখার কোন শুরু বা শেষ কিছুই নেই। থাকতেও পারে, আমি ঠিক জানি না। কাল থেকে একটু জ্বর হয়েছে। তাই নানা কথা মাথায় আসছে। বেকার কথা। কিছু স্মৃতি আছে তার ভিতর, কিছু মুখ, কিছু গান, হয়তো খানিক ভবিষ্যতের ভাবনাও আছে। এই ব্যাপারটা নতুন। হয়ত বয়েস বাড়ছে বলে। কিম্বা অন্য কিছুও হতে পারে। চারপাশে অনেক কিছুই তো পাল্টে গেলো, মানিয়ে নিতে অসুবিধা হয় মাঝে মাঝে। অনেক চুপচাপ হয়ে গেছি। নিজে টের পাই। আগে সব ব্যাপারে এগিয়ে গিয়ে মতামত দিতাম, উত্তেজিত হতাম। সেসব আর হয় না। কিছুদিন আগে এক পুরোনো ছাত্রীর সাথে দেখা হয়েছিল। সে বলল, “অনেক শান্ত হয়ে গেছো।” কথাটার মানে বুঝতে পারিনি। কদিন মনে মনে কথাটা নিয়ে নাড়াচাড়াও করলাম। কিছু একটা লিখবও ভেবেছিলাম। এই এখন কথায় কথায় মনে এল। কিন্তু এরকম লিখতে চাইনি। যাক্‌গে, যেতে দিয়েছি। যেমন দিয়ে থাকি আজকাল অনেক কিছুকেই।

অতীতের দিকে তাকালে মনে হয় ভুলগুলো ভাল ছিল, ঠিকগুলো ভুল। আফশোষ করব না ঠিক করেছিলাম, ভুল করেছিলাম। সেই হাঁটু মুড়ে বসতেই হয় একদিন না একদিন। অবশ্য মাথা তুলে কোনদিনই বাঁচিনি তেমন করে। ছাপোষা মধ্যবিত্তর ওসব বিলাস পোষায় না, স্বপ্ন দেখা অবধিই দৌড়। অতীতের দিকে বেশী তাকালে দুঃখই হয়। তাই চেষ্টা করি ভুলে যেতে। খুব সহজ নয়। কিন্তু ভুলে যাই। Pen-drive হারিয়ে ফেলি, লেখা জমা দিতে দেরি হয়ে যায়, কত কাজ করা হয়ে ওঠে না, স্রেফ ভুলে যাই বলেই। ইতিহাসে কোনও কালে ভাল ছিলাম না। পেটের দায়ে সেই ইতিহাস নিয়েই থাকি। আমি যে কী, আমি নিজে কোনদিনই বুঝতে পারিনি। কী হতে পারবো না কখনো, সেইটা আজকাল তবু ঝাপসা মতন দেখতে পাই। একদিক থেকে ভালোই। এককালে অসীমে বিশ্বাস করতাম, এখন সীমানা হলেই স্বস্তি হয়। গোটাটা স্বীকারোক্তির মত শোনাচ্ছে হয়ত, কিন্তু তাতেই বা কী? লিখছি তো এমনিই, যা খুশি তাই। কাউকে কোন জবাবদিহি করার তো কোন দায় নেই। স্রেফ হাতে আসছে তাই লিখছি।

শুরু থেকেই মনে হচ্ছিল এটা ঠিক চিঠি হবে না। হচ্ছেওনা। অথবা হচ্ছে। দরখাস্ত হচ্ছে না। আমি তো এরকমই চিঠি লিখি। এলোমেলো, উদ্দেশ্যহীন। যারা পায়, তারা মানে বুঝে নেয়। এটা কেউ পাবে না, তাই মানে বোঝার দায় নেই। থাকলেও সে দায় আমার না। আসলে আমার জ্বর হয়েছে। তাই হয়ত ভুল বকছি। আসলে আমার মাথায় ছিট আছে। কিছু একটা হচ্ছে, বা হচ্ছে না। বাজে বকা অভ্যাস হয়ে গেছে। তাই বাজে না বকে থাকতে পারিনা। এখন বাজে বকার কেউ নেই, তাই নিজের সঙ্গে বকছি। আমি তো আসলে অতীত আর ভবিষ্যতের মাঝখানে দাঁড়িয়ে থাকা একটা বিন্দু, প্রতি মুহুর্তে মরে যাচ্ছি, আবার জন্মাচ্ছিও। আমার তো আসলে ঠিক এইখানে শেষ করে দেওয়া উচিত। কিন্তু পারছি কই?

Jeshob lekhar proyojon furiyechhe...

1.

"Doityer bagane ar basanta ase na. Goto shiit-e kokil dekechhilo, bhul kore, hoyto ba obhyeshe. Kokil-er to ghori nei, calender-o nei. Ki aschorjo, kokil-er to basai nei! Calendar tangabe kothay? Polash fote na e shohor-er pothe, park street-er koborkhanay jhore jaay onami ful, kuriye ene keu garir janlay bikri-o kore na. Kinbei ba ke? Karur to fuldani-e nei, rakhbe kothay? Onami fule to gondho thake na. Ekhon onek rate kolkata sashon kore jeshob sorbonam, tara keu abani-r bari chenena. Eka pothe lampost chnuye name halogen alo, gota rastay makhamakhi hoye kopai-er moto dekhay, bali chikchik kore. Tobu ondhokar-er nesha kate na. O pothe koto lok hnate, karur pocket theke ekta siki-o ki chhitke pore na kothao? E shohore ar siki byabohar kore na keu. Tobu ghorer kone ekta table onekdin dhore thakle tar proti-o to maya pore jay? Bojha jayna obosso, kintu soriye nile payar dag theke jay. Tokhon mone hoy ki jeno nei...

Tarpor onek pore ekdin, prem, nesha ar sms-er moto biroho-o basi hote hote sref obhyesh hoye jay..."

2.

"Othoba kichhui likhbo na. Rabindra sadan theke metro-r sesh station-er nam ki? Dumdum theke sesh train kotay chhare? Mone mone bondhur hat dhorle kotodur jaowa jay? Asol kothata holo, kondike? Durodarshan, Durgapujo, Du:sahos r Durontopona niye amader chhotobela kondike chole gechhe? Ei barti boyesh r komti oxygen kondike jachhe?

Janen na to? Amio jani na. Amra keu jani na. Tobu amra roj eishob kore kore sniri bhenge bhenge kondike jeno egiye jai. Egiyei je jai, setao nishchit kore jani na. Tobu bari ferar tara, lekha sesh korar tara, ticket katar tara. Sesh show-er por sob alo nibhe gele, dorshokder hattali miliye gele, porda pore gele obhineta jane tar r kichhu korar nei. Tobu bari take firtei hoy, kondike? Ekdol manush ache jara nijer hridoytake paposher moto mele rakhe. Tobu banchte tader bhari bhalo lagey. Shohor paltay, somoy paltay, nam-o paltay roj, tobu Cigarette tukro ra bhalobashar keu hoyna, janen?Kintu sob kotha to sotti-e lekha jay na, taina? 

Onek rat holo, shabdhane bari firben…

Aj kondike?"

3.

"Awchin pakhi bujhi shuhdu buker khanchatei ase jaay? Mathar bhitore je pakhita roj dana jhaptay, se ekdin thik ural debe, digontorekhar dike. Dekhe nis. Buker majhkhane je jolashoy bikelbelar dhakuria lake-r moto nissare train-er sobdo gile ney, masjid-er ajan bhese ashar agey, tar gachheo to kolokakoli jome thake. Nahoy tui auto-y beshi bhara dibi na, taxi-r meter scale diye mapbi, kintu tate ki r shohor-ta palte jachhe? Je tramgulo ekhono chora hoyni, je koborgulo dekha hoyni, je shob boi ekhono tor opekkhay college street-r footpath-e obosthan korchhe tader kothay niye jabi? Tui palate chaitei paris, eishob kichhu theke dure, kono ek nishchinto, nibhrito bhalo bashay. kintu ghulghuli diye bhubangram dekha ek r nijer kholos theke nijeke chharano arek, dher kothin byapar. Kota kopai, kota khowai, kotogulo bankura-r bus perote hobe bhebe dekhechhis? Melamath r chayer bhnar-gulo noy felei dilam, kintu metro-r ticket gulo-r ki korbi? Asole ki janis, onekkhon karo chokher dike takiye thakleo khub maya pore jay to..."

4.

"Charpash jokhon chheye jachhe poster-e, amar shohorer mukh dheke jay bigyapon-e, tokhono babughat-er shyaola-y chikchik kore bhorer surjo. Sosta-r aeroplane r cell-phone-er tower dokhol niyechhe je dhushor akash-er, ekhono sekhane du-charte kak-chil guerilla judhho chaliye jaay. Ektu beshi raatey surjo nibhe gele, theme ele sohorer sob kolahol, ekti-duti tara ekhono unki diye jay. Keu tader khobor rakhena, seta onno kotha. tate tader kichhu esheo jabar kotha noy. kintu modda kothata holo, ja kichu nei, ta je adou nei, emon kotha holof kore ekhono bola jachhe na. Shohore jonaki jwole na hoyto, tobu se neel agun kuriye nebar basona aaj-o soman diptimoy.

E shohor chhere chole gele oneker bhalo hobe hoyto, sohor-tar hobe ki? Porajoy nischit jeneo, somoyer kachhe hnatu mure ekdin bostei hobe jeneo, keu kotha rakhbe na jeneo, shudhu biswas-er jore ajo to keu keu lore jaay. Jhogra koraro to lok chai?"

5.

"Fire jachhilo megh. Ki ekta bhebe theme gelo. Tarpor theke gelo karur buk-e. Sei theke shohorer mukh bhar. Omni kore fire jete jete pichhu dakte hoy?

Buk-er thik jekhane asha-ra thake, kimba mathar je kontay, sekhane ki megh-er jaowa mana? Roj jaay na obosso, kintu jedin jaay, sedin to khub brishti hoy. Brishti ki bhalo?Brishti-r joma jole nouko-chithi bhashale keu pabei emon kono kotha nei, sob chithi sotti-e thikanay pouchhoy na. Othocho shohor paltay, projonmo palte jaay, dekhar chokh palte jaay. Gongay bheshe jay nouko tobu gotipoth palte jay. Onek onek khunjle ekta kore milefolok mele, jar dhare dudondo bose jirono jaay. Onek onek somoy periye ekta kore naam na jana pakhir dekha mele.Garia theke je rasta-ta bridge-er dike chole gechhe, onek ratey okhane auto-y sat-atjon-o bose jaowa jaay, ek hatey, kono rokome khamche dhore. Oikhan theke pother dupashe timtime aloy nijhjhum jibon dekhte sobcheye bhalo. Oneke jibon periye aro beshi jete pare, sobai pare na.Aj taratari bari firis... Megh korechhe..."

6.

"Ekrokom deshlai achhe, take bole mom-deshlai. bhari sundor dekhte. Patla dohara chhoto-khato goron, sadharon deshlai-er cheye sob dik thekei alada. Sadharonoto sobkotai jole r ekebare sesh matha obdhi jole. Jara khub boro nesharu, tara jane, oi deshlai-er onno upojogitao achhe. R jara seshob noy, tara khub ekta pochhondo kore na, asole mulyo bojhe na. Karon oi deshlai shudhu poranoi jaay. Kan chulkano jaay na, daant khonchano jaay na. Oshob korte gelei bhenge jaay, bidroho kore bodhhoy!

Kintu bhebe dekhle dekha jabe, nisshese pure jaowai to deshlai-er dhormo. Ektu khon alo deowa, ektu agun, ushonta.. tarpor abar ondhokar... hoyto mukhomukhi bosibar... thik jani na. Mom-deshlai jokhon jole, tokhon thik agun-er porer ongsho-tay gola mom-er kemon ekta khela cholte thake. Jeno podmo-patay jol, jeno shubhro kathinyo theke bayubhuto shunyotay mishye jabar majhe torol dolachol...Mom-deshlai sesh obdhi jolle chhai pray thake na, haoway mishe jaay... kintu sesh obdhi jalale angul purbe, otodur na jaowai bhalo..."

7.

"Last train dhore chaand bari fire jabar por, notebook-e jyotsna tuke rakhe raat. Ontohin kono ek shohure bypass-er dhare, rail line-er pashe bhuttakhete, eka deke fire jaay lokkhipencha. Se daak tumi kokhono shononi. Chaalkol theke bhese asha paka dhan-er gondho periye, onek beshi ratey alo jholmol shohor theke nijhjhum mofossole-r pothe eka bari fere keu. Tar mukh tumi kokhono dekhoni. E shohor-er ja kichhu bhalo r biponno, moidan-er choraigulo, vicotoria-r porita, kromosho khin hoye asha tramline-gulo ar ektu ektu kore hariye jaowa parkstreet cemetery-r shyaola dhora panchil-tar moto aro onek kichhu tomar jonne roilo. Jodio jani, eshob-er kono kichhur-i towakka na kore, ekdin onek bhorer flight-e byasto-somosto hoye tumio kothay jeno chole jabe. Kichhudin picture-postcard pathabe, kichhudin internet-e chhobi lagabe, tarpor sob theme jabe. Asole jibon to thame na, tai ar baki sob theme jaay, jete badhyo hoy. Kokhono kono byasto dupure, khunje dekho, kothao kono odeya chhithi, na khola kham, pore thakteo to pare..."

8.

"Erokom-i to hobar kotha chhilo. Kotha diye keu kotha rakhbe na, majhe majhe rastay dekha holeo chinte parbe na, bhule jabe purono semester-er sob lenden. Tobu bikel goriye sondhye namar pothe, coffee house-er tumul adda-r fanke hothat ekla lage, onek ratey ekta sms-e ki jeno bolte cheyeo nissobde vibrate kore cellphone. Bhishon matha byatha-y shudhu chhoya-y kichhu hobe na jeneo, kar jeno haat kopale pete mon chay.

Jibon-ta oirokom-i. Gonga beye naam na jana nouka kono ekdike chole jabar por, bari firte hobe jeneo onno kothao chole jete ichhe kore. Metro kore dumdum hoye gele arame jaowa jaay jeneo bus-e firtei beshi bhalo lage. Je dighijol onekdin-er chena tobu tar dhare kono shanto bikele bose jol-er chokhe chokhe rakha hoyni, sekhane ghai mere jaay ochena kono machh. Amra jara ei somoy-ke thamano jabe na jeneo ulto hanti, tader ei rokom-i hobar kotha chhilo,tobu...Smritira nirobe janan diye jaay, shyaola-dhora dewal beye jemon bere othe naam na jana lotagulmer dal, ke jane, konodin hoyto ful futteo pare..."

9.

"Asole ektu sondhyer dike airport-er dhar gheshe rasta-ta diye gele gota runway-ta dekha jaay... tip tip alo-r ekta poth. Pash-er rasta diye jete jete mone hoy ekhuni kono uronchakti nebe asbe. Kintu nabe na. Roj gota sohor-er janjot thele pora bus, sei barir samne namiye dey. Haldiram-er alojholmol barita, Rajarhat-er flyover-ta sotti jeneo kichhutei mante ichhe kore na ei prithibite r kothao kono swapno obosishto nei. Apato niriho songskriti-r bukpocketeo kothao bangla band lukiye thake, tikhno jukti-r shanito ostrer sathei olpo jorano uchcharon, duhate agle rakhe chhotobela; oi tuku bhorshai ekhono benche thak. Baki ta amra roj-i coffee-r cup-e bujhe nitey jani..."

10.

"Emoni kono ek badolbelar seshe, fire giyechhilo rajputrer roth. Dhulo chhere molin boson joriye niye, sei meye beriye porechilo, nodi hobe bole. Ekhon tar gohon nabyotay, rajputrer sampan chole na. Bhora borshay dukul chhapiye jokhon bhalobasha ashe, tokhon-o meye kande na, shudhu kulu kul sobde beje jaay cellphone. Bhubandanga-r ranga math periye jokhon cycle-riksha-r tyre-r dhulo miliye jaay, chayer dokan-er radio theke bheshe ashe bishonno bibidhobharoti, tokhon jodi ekbar cycle theke neme ghure darao, khub ki ashorjo hobey?

Temon kore kokhono kheyal korini, kintu mela bhenge jabar por, telebhajar dokan-er bhire, sobar olokhyete tumio ki chhile?Kopai jabar rastay ekdin chandni ratey amar ek bondhu khub matal hoye kende felechhilo. Eishob to r internet-e bojhano jaay na...Ekhane kopai nei, canal nei, deer-park-er machata nei, ambagan-er cycle gulo-o nei...Onekei kichh bujhte parchhe na, kintu jara bujhbe, tader jonno, tor jonno, ekta metho banshi roilo... Paro to scale bujhe niyo..."

Memories of Blue Dendrobiums

Ever bought flowers for someone? Someone whom you love and one who loves flowers? Not those occasional mandatory stuff. Bought flowers because you really felt like, bought it to give it to someone? Probably one of those few times, because everyone else you ever had in your life wasn't really fond of flowers, or you never had the courage to buy them flowers, ever...

Blue dendrobiums are not really blue. They are in fact purple. Since blue looks nice for almost all occasions (according to a florist's website!) the purple Bombay dendrobium is dyed with blue colour, so they can have a purplish blue tinge. Which in fact, looks kind of nice and fit for all occasion. All that is beautiful is fake, all that is romantic must be a short lived illusion. I bought them once and sent them to the one I thought would appreciate them.

Did I love her? Like hell I did!

Hell it was... definitely for me, partly for her too, or so I assumed. Met her on a cyber-trip in search of a stranger. You all know it, and if you're already a blogger like me, you must have had chat-room strangers, early social networking strangers and probably the more sophisticated kind by now. If you haven't, I pity you! So the chitchat grew into casual talks, text messages and phone calls, eventually we met. Our professional lives crossed path, so did our list of friends. We could've met earlier, as we found out later, but fate it seems, never runs out of the sense of irony!

Did she love me? She said so, "not in the way you love me.." she told me. She realised that rather late though. For me, the helpless romantic I am, it was almost insufferable. Met her when she was about to get married, after a long courtship. There was nothing wrong with their companionship. I met the guy, liked him a lot. But I certainly did not want her to get married, not to him. I've been the anti-marriage, anti-family kind of person for long. Age it seems, I felt like marrying her. The funny thing with experiences of life is you are never mature enough. Just the moment you think you've been there, done that, something absolutely new and mind boggling comes up. Life is what happens to you, when you're busy planning other things. Or so they say...

It could've happened that way. But I was never ready to let her go. So we kept in touch. I had definite reasons for it, and let me assure you they were never very innocent or moral. I still don't know why she did that. We went to trips together, fought. Didn't see each other for days. She once took 30 days to reply to one of my texts. She had her reasons, I guess. But then, all you can do is to assume things. As I once understood when I was a student, and later told my students of media, there is nothing called truth, there are only perceptions! I almost stand corrected now, there are only assumptions. We are taught to believe things, have faith. Then comes academics, teaches you to be a skeptic, teaches you to ask questions. And then, if you think like me, you'll discover, when you ask something, most of the time the answer dangles there, in between truth and lie, with a probability of inclining to any which way at any given instance of time. Truth is, therefore, whatever you wish to believe! In the beginning you are so startled to understand this, you almost refuse to succumb to it. But then slowly, it settles in. After a point, you happily believe whatever you wish to believe and continue your happily ever after.

Not a skeptic like me. One of the (dis)advantages of being a skeptic is you see so many versions of the same 'truth' from such vicinity that it feels too close for comfort. But let me keep the analyzing part at bay for a while. After quite a considerable amount of time in her marriage, she realised I wasn't as bad as I seemed in the beginning and I was in fact kind of a nice, harmless guy. I can be a good friend and the occasional shoulder to cry on, when things don't go according to plan. People around me, told me she's using me. I myself felt so on a few occasions. When she felt no one loves her, she asked me if I still love her. Asked me to reassure her that at least I still love her, if not anyone else. I did. But when I felt the same way, she told me it's not a good time, because she's disturbed. Never cared to ask, how I felt when she asked me for love then content, she went back to her man. O she was faithful to him, give and take a night or two...

Point is, I was willing to submit, willing to overlook such anomalies, such lack of respect. You're not supposed to expect things when you're in love. But then, you do expect things.. don't you? She took from me what she needed, because I was willing to give, fair enough. I said I didn't expect, she trusted me. Logical enough. On a logical plane, I can't blame her, nor do I wish to. So, when people told me she was using me, I said, may be I love to be used? But deep inside I knew, how I bled. Why I lost my sleep, why did I keep awake all night and cry, how I craved for her. Never in my life, someone hurt me this much. At times, I thought I'll end my life or her. But I knew that will never happen. I never had so much courage. I stayed out of touch for brief intervals of time, didn't help. I was the first one to help her when she was in trouble, almost all sorts. So, did she care for me? At times it felt she did.

I have a problem. I'm a believer in a skeptic's clothing. I almost believe everything someone tells me. I trust almost everyone and then I trust none. So when people told me she was using me, I trusted them. When she told me she wasn't I believed her. In this process continuous tensions from all sides, I lost too many things. Lost my valuable time for work, my concentration, my ability to think properly, my sleep, my energy, but most importantly I lost my ability to trust, anything and everything. Deep inside I eroded, silently, like a riverbed. My friends told me she was not the right one for me. Not that I didn't know. I always fall for women who are not "right" for me. Maybe this time I went too far. May be there are no right ones?

Towards the end of last decade, her marital problems scaled new heights. But then they subsided, probably for good. So she thinks at least. It was just a matter of time she joined her man in their new 'home'. But right before she did that, she managed to hurt me for one final time. She announced her departure rather dramatically. For once she made me fantacise she's coming back to my city, once and for all. But then I realised, rather painfully that she's not coming back, ever. It was the final goodbye. i still don't wish to blame her for anything she did or said to me.

May be her situations were such? May be she never loved me, may be she did? May be she wanted to, but couldn't? May be she actually used me? May be people are cruel enough to do so and forget? May be they are just helpless as I am? May be I was too desperate,selfish and insensitive to realise she couldn't have done anything else? Who knows? I felt happy about the good times spent together, I feel content with my little victories over the better man she was faithful to. I'm sorry that I almost ruined her apparently peaceful marriage. Sorry, that I stepped down from my disbelief in the marital institution for once and then found it almost impossible to get back to it. But as I bid her the final farewell, I realised I don't the answers to too many questions. I don't know for sure if blue dendrobiums can be kept on the tombstones of unnamed relations. Nonetheless, I'll offer one. I could have said adieu to her a long time ago, I didn't and as I recognise it's a late goodbye, I've learnt to let go...

Joker

"...Asole joker-er chinhoguli ki ki? Sobai janbe se herow. Se nijeo nishchit thakbe se herow. Tar theke kono threat utsarito hobe na konokaley. Se propose korbe na. Sobbai snatar katle, se pare dnariye thakbe nyala pa cross kore, khali-ga howar sahos nei. Ekta mridu chithi likhbe, dakeo debe, kintu maskhanek bade charline sopate thabra ele borong swasti pabe, noile sei obiswasyo dhon niye tar khoro-basay kon kone rakhto, swechchha-boklos na-boltei golay goliye das-madam natyo shuru korar por obodharito kuthar kobe porto, onek hyapa. Adday se oporiharjo noy, kintu priyo khub. Oi je, prothomei proman kore diyechhe, keu lath khele, se khabe. Se sobar jonne boye ene debe jol, take niyei khnyao-khnyao hasahasi kore dhok gilte giye jokhon kulkuchir moto ento jol chhoriye porbe mejhete, se-i punche nebe mridu hasi osthe mekhe, patta pachhe kotoi na, eto jinis thakte alochonar aykkere moddhikhane tar hablapona, tar kyablagiri, ei tripti-te dogomogo. Take somaje bolbe, khub boddo bhishon bhalomanush..."

"...Se nije balance rakhte pare na, tai tar hate nyasto hoy bhuboner bhar. Running-e se chore porte pareni, line-e dhokar chestao ar kore na gnatiyegnutiye, protijogitar baire dnariye thake onujoghin hasi futiye, dharabahik walk-over deowatai onushilon kore chole, tar bekhappagiri o achabhuyapona nishchoyota peye gechhe, byas, ebar gyandaner license apsei gojiyechhe pechhonpockete. Tar mukhbhorti rong, ekta chokher tolay duto nitol osrubindu anka, jhyakormyakor collar-er opor tar norbore mathay konkra chuler modhyikhane taak, tate progya chokchok korbe na to ki? Hasikanna chhene se tule enechhe chaddi joruri mukto, jibonke reserve bench theke study kore se peye gechhe ei niyomer o foul-er tabot chhoker nikhut samajh, nanga sonyasi jemon guptodhoner sondhan ditey paren obyortho, temon ei hiseb bohirbhutorai tuski mere miliye dite pare bhognagsho o sniribhangar jotiltomo step. Sobhyotar nil-sada kejo routine got-ke ding mere periye jaowar otiloukik moi pagol peyechhe tar osukher doulote, matal peyechhe neshar jore, ar joker peyechhe koutuker habudubu kheliye, tinjonei atmonigroher ticket dekhiye khirkir dor diye ghure eshe ultobagey chand catch korechhe. Joker syayna pagol, swechchha-matal, fole se three-in-one-o bote. Kheurer kholose chironton sach pakhle neowa tar jolbhat, har sondhyer agenda..."

Haha, hoho, hihi o onyanno
Chandril Bhattacharya
Robbar, Songbad Protidin
20 December, 2009

The disgusted post

It's not a great feeling for me to post something on my blog after a long time and start it with a disgusted tone. But the fact remains. I can't really 'compose' what I feel right now, but if I don't let it out somehow, it's just killing me. I mean I feel physically ill.

I'm wondering what it means to offer someone something. Something really naive like a gossip session over a cup of coffee or a film that's supposed to hit the screens in a few days. Not that you pick up a random someone and throw a proposal. It's about people you know are likely to enjoy that kind of an experience. Not that I necessarily need a company for such things, but it's always good to have like-minded people for such occasions.

Now the question is, what does it amount to be. When you propose something, anything, to some individual or a group of individuals or an institution, there are two possible answer. It may not always readily opt out to be any one of them, but there is, almost always a chance of negotiation, be it a positive one or a denial. The deal is quite straightforward, I've something to say, you may agree to it, or you may not. Even if you do, we may need to negotiate a few more things. Almost never one does expect an answer that quite clearly is rude, to say the least. But it happens. All of us know that, all of us have faced such situations. My question is, why does it happen?

Clearly one does and does not expect certain things from the other party. Don't give me the crap that expectation is the problem. We all know that, but that doesn't stop any of us from expecting things. So, when you come up with a proposal, you expect both the ends. What you don't expect is the subsidiaries of such outcomes. For example, when a denial comes with a hint of... let me correct myself... with a clear intent of humiliation. As if, there is almost always some sort of an underlined intention to any proposal, that it chooses to hide. I know such things are there but it is not a necessary component every proposal. Some are just dumb enough to be straightforward.

Humiliation as I see it, is the round about way of making one feel guilty of things one has not consciously done. There are things I can not speak of because they lie beyond the domain of language but the feeling is real. At least it feels so.

This post has started sounding like a letter to express personal grudges against people I don't want to intimidate, but if it goes on, take my word for it, I will. Point is I'm fade up of playing the nice guy I'm not and if it hurts you, good for you, I haven't been spared either. You see, you may have been disappointed/disgusted/disoriented for reasons beyond my comprehension, but just because I dropped an sms at the wrong time, doesn't give you the right to humiliate me for no apparent reason. When I feel bad about things, I don't talk to people and tell them I don't want a fight. I believe that's the best way to not hurt each other for reasons that doesn't readily involve both of us. I'm ready to hear, if you have anything against me, come out with it.

Or is it just me, playing the loser? Suffering from all sorts of complex that only jeopardizes my life. Why does it sound like a betrayal every time I offer a friendship to someone. I know it's an insane world out there, but sometimes, humiliation is just the one push that helps one cross the line that marks the abyss of madness! Call me an egotist, or a loser, or insane...

Sincerely, I give a FUCK...

Can't name you

There are some moments in life when you feel like dieing because it wont be worth living after witnessing such beauty. I've got a post on hold, one that is long due now. I've started writing it, but can't really get anywhere. I may publish it unfinished. But this one, I must post now. I'm afraid I wont be able to write about it, if this moment passes. I've been checking her album. She accepted the request today and she has written a post in her blog. Can't write the words of admiration that I want to as photo-comments. It'll be too much out-in-the-open. Some feelings, you need to hide. Murmur in her ears in private, in person, silently. Can't do that either. Can't fall in love with her. Twitted the moment, "There are two ways out of her eyes, love or death..." Love is an impossible option, death isn't even an option. I hate it! I know this is momentous, but moments I believe in. Eternity doesn't have the ability to hold it. Why does it happen to me? I should be dead, or in love...

Goddess, give me a camera and let me look at you.. forever... for this moment. I wanted to die, sincerely! Call me a cynic... but that's the truth!

hijibiji

ekdin ekta post likhbo, tate polayon lekha thakbe, kimba mrtiyu...

Bhallagchhena...

Jedin onek kichhu bolar thake r ki bolbo kichhutei bujhe uthte pari na, thik sedin-e keu kotha bolar thake na.

Ekhono hatrachchhi... pachchhi na...

Dukkhobilas...

Depression...

Sondeho...

Iirsha...

Kotogulo shobdo, chhobi matha-r bhitor diye elomelo hnete jachchhe...

Confusion...

Ami onno kichhu cheyechhilam...

Abar palate ichhe korchhe...

Onekdin chhilo na, abar fire elo?

Eibar? Erpor?

Kauke chhnute parle bhalo hoto... kintu keu nei...

Para jeto, kintu ekhon r ichhe kore na. Kichhui korte ichhe kore na...

Jokhon ichhe kore, paowa jabe na, jani. Onno dike bhese gechhe...

More gelei hoy? Moreo na to...

"Mobile phone... Memory.. Tor number..."

I'm-perfect?

Usually we all search for perfection. The perfect friend, the perfect home, the perfect lover, the perfect holiday.... and obviously the perfect life!
"Perfect"! huh!
And we all know, it's impossible! there is no such thing which is absolutely PERFECT.
Or is there? I mean, if there is nothing perfect, then these assumptions are too perfect to be true. What a paradox this life is!
Often in our search for the perfect, we fail and then console ourselves with make-shift arrangements, we manage...
But sometimes, just sometimes, we stumble upon something that's just the thing we want. We meet that perfect person, arrive at that perfect place, feel we just have that perfect life...
And we live happily.. just for a while...
Yes, just for a while. Because after that we begin to understand that perfection is not what we want. Perfection is not worth living. We, human beings are too fuzzy to be content with perfection. Perfection is mechanical, inhuman.
Once that feeling is starts brewing inside, we are no more the happy-with-perfection person. We are disturbed, we crib, we get depressed and finally we break open...
No, it does not happen with all of us, not in all cases. In fact, it doesn't happen with most of us, in most cases. Because in most cases, we manage. We console ourselves, then pity ourselves, but we are too afraid to break free. We are afraid that if we do that, we'll be left alone, we feel too insecure to be insecure.
But still it happens, slowly, silently... you try to stop it, mask it with all your acting skills, managing skills, being fully aware that you are just helpless. Some days you declare a cease-fire, some days you're bruised, torn apart. But you know you're not allowed to show it. In fact, you don't even know how to show it and you can't figure out what's happening to you, why is it?
On one of those days, when you are absolutely confused about yourself, you do something drastic, something desperate. Sometimes it affects you so badly that it changes your life.
In our search of perfection, we've found the imperfect.
Since imperfection is never absolute, we are certain that we can never be happy, but this time around, we know perfection isn't happy either. Better be swinging between moments of joy and sorrow than be too sad about your happiness? Better be the insecure, politically incorrect one than be the machine-like, inhuman existence?
We all make mistakes and we almost never ask for forgiveness.
If perfection is just an idea, then imperfection must be the multifarious, multifaceted, multidimensional truth we all seek.
I'm-perfect?

Afterthoughts or Premonitions?

When some random thoughts come to my mind and I can't access the net, I write them as long text messages and save them. Often I delete them, forget them, but I put up a few in my blog. New developments.. hmm..
This one's from last night..

In our pursuit to legitimize the 'other'/marginal' we often forget that the 'dominant'/'normative' is also a position. One can choose that, being fully informed and empathetic to all possible positions.
Once two people start their journey towards the different possible positions of a relation they have to make an effort to negotiate each other. What's lost in this process is the spontaneity of a relation. After a point they may not be able to bridge the gaps anymore. A relation depends on spontaneity when it's a breathing space for the persons involved. After that, it's just role-playing.one gets bored with that, when one is able to understand that. The "pleasure contract" breaks down.

hmm.. a lot to worry about. I found another forgotten sms, but I'm not in the mood to put it up here right now.