I had just started college. Ever since my school days, I’d been growing up amidst a certain kind of tension, which wasn’t always apparent to others but which I could feel. My mother would try to hide it, but it was hard to fool my childlike mind. Even at that age, I was quite observant. I never asked for anything, and my mother would say, ‘Why don’t you ask for anything? Don’t you know that even a cat meows for milk?’ It’s quite difficult to articulate the feelings I had back then. I could never express myself properly. When I was upset, my behavior would apparently reflect it. I couldn’t hide myself. I could feel a cloud forming inside me. Then I would lose my words. I would run out of things to say. During such times, apparently, my face would twist into a frown. That’s what Jasmine used to say. I looked at myself in the mirror, but it wasn’t as bad as Jasmine made it out to be. Around that time, I started thinking about the necessity of marriage. Is marriage just a burden of many responsibilities and being constantly nagged at by a wife? Actually, who in this world doesn’t complain? Friends complain, lovers complain, relatives complain, brothers complain, sisters complain, mothers complain, fathers complain, even virtual friends complain. Everyone complains, and so do I…
Life is full of unfulfilled desires, everyone experiences them. I’m not troubled by these unfulfilled desires. I don’t feel any pain from what I haven’t achieved. No one can have everything in life, and that doesn’t make life meaningless. What I have is more than enough, exceeding my expectations.
When I transitioned from school to college, I changed significantly. This transformation began earlier, around the age of fourteen or fifteen. I became solitary, an introvert. I distanced myself from my playful friends. Where did my school friends go? Did they understand me? Did I understand them? The answer is no. From then on, I learned to be alone. I spent time in the library, watched movies, and wandered in forests.
During that time, I realized that many thoughts were swirling in my mind, but I had no one to share them with. My mother would panic if I shared my outlandish thoughts with her, so I couldn’t tell her. Therefore, I decided to write, to write for myself. After reading books, I would contemplate many things. Different characters would stir emotions within me. I couldn’t sleep at night. These characters would come alive before my eyes.
I encountered a new phase of life in college. New friends, a new environment, new thoughts. Even in college, my life was a constant tug-of-war between wants and needs, presence and absence, a game of addition and subtraction. My future and my mindset were not shaping up well; I learned many things quite late. Like how we teach our children so much from a young age, that wasn’t happening in my case. I lacked a lot of maturity. It was in this state that I met Deepa. She was our classmate. There were only three girls in our class. One girl was very reserved; she didn’t interact with anyone. Only Deepa and another girl, Jolly, were very cheerful. For the first few months, they didn’t pay much attention to me. I used to sit quietly in the back benches. Among so many boys, only two girls were the center of attention. Deepa was quite lively, fun-loving, and loud; she would laugh loudly, sing songs, and recite poems.
When I moved up to my second year in college, a literary magazine was launched. They asked for contributions from everyone. I gathered my courage and submitted a piece. It wasn’t a story or a poem, more like a rambling piece about people’s loneliness. To my surprise, it got published.
One day, I was walking home from class when Deepa ran up to me. I was startled to see her. It was as if a loud gong had been struck right in front of me. I hadn’t realized until that moment just how beautiful Deepa was.
Deepa said, I like your writing very much. You read my poem!
I said yes. Your handwriting is good.
Why are you alone! Chat with us.
I don’t say anything.
From that day on, I became very good friends with Deepa. At Deepa’s house, there were many books. Deepa would let me read them, sometimes even giving them away saying there was no need to return them. Books by Sharatchandra, Nihar Ranjan, Falguni, Nimai, and Ashutosh. Deepa was a very lively girl. She didn’t pay much attention to me. She didn’t realize how eager I was to talk to her. She was always busy with other friends. I felt bad then. Suddenly one day she might say, ‘I’m telling you, you should talk with us!’ I didn’t reply. I didn’t say, ‘Deepa, I just want to talk to you.’ Deepa wore beautiful clothes and was from a wealthy family. My clothes were in a terrible state. Could Deepa be avoiding me because of that?
The day my exams ended, I felt so empty. And I wouldn’t be seeing Deepa anymore! Everyone was so excited on the last day of practicals. Deepa was right in the middle of it all. In a moment, Deepa slipped a crumpled piece of paper into my hand. She said, “Read it at home.” My heart started pounding. It felt like a hundred frogs were leaping in my chest! When I got home, I unfolded the paper. It was just a two-line note, ‘You’re a bit different, a strange type. Why are you like this? Listen, you must keep writing, and don’t forget me, okay?’ – Deepa Saha
Toronto, Canada
