Every individual is unique. We differ in our thoughts, feelings, lives, philosophies, likes, dislikes, personalities, and very existences. Human life is incredibly diverse. Some affluence is apparent to all, while some remains hidden or incomprehensible. Moreover, the definition of affluence varies from person to person. For some, a dewdrop on a blade of grass is more precious than a pearl, while for others, it’s merely wet grass. When it rains, some are filled with romanticism, while others are irritated. I won’t delve into judging either.
Everyone’s perspective is unique, and it can never be universal. Besides, not all mysteries can be solved or understood. For some, sitting beside a loved one under the moonlight is the ultimate fulfillment, but it’s not necessary for everyone to yearn for such natural beauty. Many still don’t understand why, in the 1947 poem “He Mahajiban” (from “Chharpatra”), poet Sukanta Bhattacharya wrote, “The full moon is like a burnt roti.” Most people would interpret this line literally. But literary connoisseurs understand its deeper meaning. They grasp how the young Marxist writer beautifully conveys that beauty loses its significance when one is hungry. Basic needs must be met before people can appreciate luxuries or poetry. In a world consumed by hunger, when the earth is prosaic, the full moon becomes nothing more than a burnt roti. Thus, for many readers, the moon and its fullness are merely superficial. However, it would be wrong to judge them, for they genuinely find no joy in it, nor should they.
Some people find joy, solace, and a language of love and every other emotion in poetry. Others can’t even finish two lines. I’ve seen both kinds up close. Many say, “If you don’t love flowers, you’re not human.” Others might say, “I love the ocean or mountains more than flowers.” Personally, while I love both flowers and mountains, I love flowing rivers the most; I find life in their currents, and I love waterfalls even more.
We are all so incredibly different. For instance, Pritam loves pizza more than anything, but his wife lives for rice. Some people scoff at the color white, but if you look at it artistically, I think white is like a canvas where you can let your imagination run wild, find anything you want, and imagine anything you please. That’s why I love white clothes, white cars, and everything white. But I never think that what I love, everyone else has to love too. There’s nothing wrong with that; we just have to accept that everyone is different.
Maya is very content with her life. Even though her husband is often out of town on business trips, she’s still happy when he returns with a new sari, jewelry, or some other gift. For her, making new connections at her kitty parties is the reality of life. On the other hand, Bina doesn’t want saris, jewelry, or anything like that. To be happy, she just wants to sleep with her head on her husband’s chest every night. In this way, we are all vastly different from each other.
Every time it rained, Mitali longed for a kadam flower in her hand, her eyes lined with kohl, and a romantic rickshaw ride with Mizan. She imagined him pulling her close, their bodies entwined, as they got drenched in the downpour. Laila, on the other hand, had expressed her desire for a rainy rendezvous to Mobin, but he had misinterpreted her romantic inclinations. Instead of a cozy rickshaw, he arrived in his mother’s borrowed jeep, concerned about her catching a cold. Laila’s heart ached at his lack of understanding. Rina yearned to share an ice cream with Robin, their lips meeting as the treat melted. But Robin, practical as ever, suggested they buy two. Rina tried to convey the deeper meaning behind her request, but her words fell on deaf ears. Disheartened, she gave up.
Short Story 1
Man doesn’t get what he wants, and again, what he gets, he doesn’t want.” Nila has been thinking a lot about this topic lately. She just feels that this pendulum of wanting and getting is like the turbulent waves of the sea, like the pull of the tide. When the tide recedes after the high tide, many people are happy, just as Halima had once found a gold chain.
Fifteen-year-old Halima, with a silver nose stud, deep kohl-lined eyes, red and yellow bangles on her thin wrists, anklets on her feet, and a green sari with a thin zari border, was one day sitting on the seashore during low tide, drawing patterns on the wet mud with a stick. She was also dreaming in her mind. In that house, she had drawn a woman, a man, and a child in her lap.
Innocent, helpless, and with a dreamy look in her eyes, she had a magical dream. Suddenly, seeing Bajan running from a distance, she blushed with embarrassment that day and quickly erased two of the three pictures! Neither the man nor the child, only fifteen-year-old Halima remained there brightly. Bajan came and, snatching her up, said, “Why is a girl like you sitting by the sea at this time of day? What does your mother say? Don’t you have any work at home? Go, feed the cows.” Halima sighed, got up and started to follow Bajan, but stopped suddenly, seeing a beautiful green plastic bottle washed ashore by the tide. The sun’s rays were mercilessly penetrating the bottle, creating a strange and beautiful sight.
Note: Bajan is likely a male figure, perhaps a family member or neighbor, who is scolding Halima for wasting time. The “gold chain” and the “plastic bottle” can be seen as symbols of desires and the unexpected turns life takes. The contrast between Halima’s dreams and the reality of her life highlights the theme of the story.
Halima’s heart pounded involuntarily. In her imagination, she saw herself as a green bottle, completely enveloped in a beam of sunlight. She could feel the warmth of every ray. After returning home, her mother’s harsh words and her grandmother’s cruel insults no longer affected her as they once did. They crashed against her ears like the roaring waves of the sea, creating ripples but failing to penetrate the fortress of her imagination.
She felt like an alien from a distant planet, weaving dreams in her mind. In her dreams, there was a powerful and rebellious young man who would one day rescue her from the confines of her oppressive home and take her to her dreamland.
A child, she thought, would be nice. It would be someone to play with while her man was out. But then again, a child would mean being confined to a home. What would she do when she wanted to wander under the moonlight with her beloved? The very thought made her shudder. No, she wouldn’t think about that now. She would enjoy her moonlit escapades for years to come and then decide about having a child later.
While her mind was racing with these thoughts, her mother suddenly grabbed her braid and shook her. “What are you daydreaming about? There’s so much work to be done!” Halima was jolted back to reality. Her daydream train derailed, and she was forced to confront the harsh realities of her life.
Scarborough, Canada
