words that touch: 1

"When they rise to prayer, they rise reluctantly and only to be seen by people. They remember Allah but little". (Surah Nisa: 142)

How very scary...

I came across something that I think wonderfully summarises my own thoughts on marriage:

Human potential is shaped by human interaction.
Relationships are a tool designed by God to refine us.
Marriage, used properly, is a people growing machine.

graffiti in Bangladesh

bitter lessons of life 3
Originally uploaded by shondhabati

I love reading Graffiti in Bangladesh. They lack colour, but they never fail to tell you of the sincere pain that prompted such production.

I found that on the wall of an old building on top of a hill in 'himchori'.

It says: "Expected love has been pain today".
Poor guy , poor Romeo!
Is that really a Romeo case or is the 'expected love' the source of all pain?
Did he get the girl and discover she isn't at all what he expected?
Or was it the girl who refused to become his love and fulfill his expectations?

I discovered myself making up stories of the person behind the graffito. I assumed it was written by a guy because more often then not, in Bangladeshi context, they are written by guys.

bitter lessons of life 3
Originally uploaded by shondhabati

This one says "Troy will destroy ur life".
I will leave the interpretation to the discretion of the reader. I found this one on a seat in a local bus.

bitter lessons of life 2
Originally uploaded by shondhabati

This one says "Vondo" or "traitor/hypocrite/betrayer". I found it in the National Park in Gazipur.

craving love
Originally uploaded by shondhabati

I found this one particularly funny. Some dude named 'Farhad' left his mobile number with a small inscription "lack of love".
I hope some soft heart listened to the pining of his lonely heart and made a good use of the number!

wall
Originally uploaded by shondhabati

I don't think I should call it graffiti, wall painting sounds more appropriate. I found it on the wall of the Art college. Loved the intricate work.

Rants

It was so coming but I still feel so sad!
House went to a mental health hospital last night, after having episodes of mixing up hallucination and reality and making a real mess--an ultimate outcome of his long history of drug abuse.
There was a big hole in my heart as he looked at Cuddy with bewildered eyes. The hole got even bigger as he quietly took off his watch and phone and handed them over to Wilson, then limped away towards the psychiatric hospital.
I got too attached with this fictional character. I would find myself hurrying home on Wednesday nights, lest I missed House. On more than one occasion, I begged Mr R to let me watch House instead of talking to him. Of course he would allow me, but I think he got a tad bit jealous--putting a fictional Doctor over the real Doctor of my life! How dare I! (Men... *sigh*) Now that House is off to a psychiatric hospital, he must be immensely relieved. It became apparent last night, as I was pouting and telling him how sad I was for House. He neither offered any consolation nor showed any sign of remorse. Heartless man! *sniff sniff*.

I am planning for revenge. I WILL make him fall for House and feel as sad I am feeling! All I need is a carefully woven plan *evil smile*. I tried that before leaving BD, but when we went to buy the DVDs of the first season and started previewing the DVDs, there appeared girls in swimming costume and a few other not-so-ideal scenes. He looked at me and smirked--"is this really what you want me to see?"
I had to back out. I need to screen the episodes first before recommending him any :(.

******************

My dad is gifted with an extraordinary ability--being able to sleep anywhere and anytime. All of us would be watching TV on high volume, including my dad, but before long he would doze off, still sitting in upright position. He has records of sleeping off in prayers, even while standing. I have seen him sleeping with books open in front of him or while working on the computer. He sleeps with room full of people chattering away, even if some conversations are directed towards him. He would sleep for seven full hours, but still wake up with red eyes, in dire need of more sleep.

I have seen my parents going through some pretty harsh times but my dad never had trouble sleeping.

My mum is the complete opposite. Just a hint of trouble and she can't sleep. Before I got married, as my parents were discussing proposals, my mum would pass night after night, sleepless, turning and tossing restlessly in the bed.

Just around this time last year, I was having trouble sleeping. I haven't slept any more than four hours nightly while I was in Malaysia and Singapore, no matter how hard I tried to make the conditions favourable for sleeping. My future was about to take a turn I didn't anticipate before, I wasn't even sure if it really was going to take that turn. I wanted so badly to know, to be sure, just so that I could be more focused on that tasks at hand and plan ahead, but there was nothing else I could do... after all I did more than what I should've done! No matter how hard I tried to ward off the thoughts, they were always there, leaving me sleepless and restless.

I had similar troubles after my final exams last semester (of course not before that. traditionally my sleep is the deepest around exam time), right when I thought I would sleep uninterrupted for hours and days. That kept on happening right through my days in Bangladesh, to the night before I got married. Even amongst crisis for space due to a large influx of relatives, I got a room on my own, with soft prepared bed, mossy nets and windows tightly closed. I would go to bed making sure I was really really tired, still I could not bring myself to sleep. Even if I succeeded in sleeping, I would have a horrible dream and wake up with a start, feeling forlorn and confused.

I was so sure I was taking after my mother! I never failed to blame her for passing off the genes full of insomniac tendency.

But only till I got married...

Then Mr R would work for 20 hours, while I blissfully slept every now and then, only to find myself having difficulty keeping my eyes open when Mr R finally got back home to his newly-wed-wife. I remember once falling asleep while my mother-in-law was speaking to me, another time while one of his cousin was speaking to me (for the first time too). I even slept through the night before leaving BD *sigh*.

Now I always seem to suffer from sleep debt. Missed fajr twice this month. Always wake up with dark circles under my eyes and a jammed head. I frequently fall asleep while talking to Mr R (and suddenly wake up to find him holding his breath and smiling cheekily at the computer screen). I sleep on my way to and from uni... even in the middle of conversations with Emu (that WAS embarrassing)!

I can only blame my dad for passing off the sleepy genes.

Or must it be Mr R, for having an unaccountable effect on my sleeping pattern/circadian rhythm/pineal gland?

feeble attempt of disciplining the self

Trying to make black and white of the grey areas is a damn silly thing to do, because there are some things that are made to be grey.

some Wilde moments

"It is better to be beautiful than to be good. But ... it is better to be good than to be ugly. OSCAR WILDE, The Picture of Dorian Gray"

I skimmed through this quote a few days ago, while making a mental note, I have to get back to that. Was he being sarcastic? I haven't read him, so don't know the actual context, but most people seem to think so. Socially better? I think not. May bring some temporary advantage though, an advantage when you are a public figure may be, or when you never really mingle with people. But if you do, if you prefer to have a few close friends, or like participating in grueling discussions that will reveal the core of your heart, then beauty doesn't help. Beauty and sincerity is good; beauty, charm and sincerity is even better; but beauty, charm and wickedness is the worse possible combination. It is better to be naïve, downright sincere and ugly. Or at least I think so.

(I kept reading through the Oscar Wilde quotes until I formed the resolution that I must read his stuff. So what I ain't an English major?)

"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. OSCAR WILDE, The Picture of Dorian Gray"
(If he was living today, he would see very few living people disagreeing with him)

"Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes. OSCAR WILDE, Lady Windermere's Fan"
(People are getting too good at the use of this euphemism these days… I get confused, frequently enough).

"All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. OSCAR WILDE, The Importance of Being Earnes"
(Really? I won't consider that a tragedy to its entirety, but in some cases that sure would be fatal...)

"I can resist everything except temptation. OSCAR WILDE, Lady Windermere's Fan"
(He said what I had to say :$.)

"Pleasure is Nature’s test, her sign of approval. When man is happy, he is in harmony with himself and his environment. OSCAR WILDE, The Soul of Man Under Socialism"
(Man, why couldn't he say Allah instead of Nature? We could've tried promoting him as a secret Muslim.)

"Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative. OSCAR WILDE, Aristotle at Afternoon Tea"
(Then I would rather be unimaginative!)

"To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable. OSCAR WILDE, The Picture of Dorian Gray"

"A map of the world that does not include Utopia is not worth even glancing at, for it leaves out the one country at which Humanity is always landing. OSCAR WILDE, The Soul of Man Under Socialism"


"There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. OSCAR WILDE, The Picture of Dorian Gray"
(Still, I would rather be not talked about!)

"The public have an insatiable curiosity to know everything, except what is worth knowing. Journalism, conscious of this, and having tradesman-like habits, supplies their demands. OSCAR WILDE, The Soul of Man Under Socialism"
(Man, how did I become so average?)

"As long as war is regarded as wicked, it will always have its fascination. When it is looked upon as vulgar, it will cease to be popular. OSCAR WILDE, The Critic as Artist"
(Let's see if and when that happens).

getting over zoophobia

(Zoophobia is apparently the fear of animals, not zoo.)

I have always been scared of dogs. I am not talking about the biting kind of dogs. I am talking about the health conscious and friendly sort, those who go walking with their owners in a cheerful mood and try to befriend anyone in the vicinity. I don't appreciate the effort, I quicken my pace. Dogs think its a game I am playing with them and start being even friendlier by chasing me. I run faster, my heart thumping against my chest. Dogs chase faster. Its a vicious cycle.


I could argue being scared of dog is an instinctive reaction. But I think its really a consequence of being chased by three dogs at the age of ten. I saved myself by locking myself in the bathroom.


I got scratched by a cat when I was even younger. I was just standing innocently, wondering at random things. Someone else made a 'shoo away' gesture to the cat that was staring at the food and the cat decided to run over my innocent toes. My toes started bleeding. My grandfather's sister in law insisted on making me eat some bitter herbs to 'stop the poisoning'. So I learnt my lesson: do not stay anywhere near cats, you will end up bleeding and eating strange herbs.


I got scratched by a monkey at four. I went to the zoo, found the monkeys very interesting so perhaps went a bit too close to the cage. A little cheeky one spared no opportunity. Next thing I remember is the smell of detol and a tingling feeling on my upper arm.


I had a scar just below the knee because some poisonous caterpillar tried to walk on my legs to save some walking. I counted eleven tiktiki (wall lizards) in my small room in Dhaka, they would jump on my table (once on my head) whenever they felt like it. The frogs in our bathroom in Dhaka didn't know any manners. They would come out and start doing high jumps right when you are in a critical situation.


I could go on and on... but the point is, animals don't like me. They always try scaring me or inflicting harm on me in one way or other. It should be of no surprise then that I only like wondering at their beauties and cuteness from metres away. Or I used to.

Until I learnt to pick up the cute white-bodied-red-eyed little rats in the lab. The first few attempts were disastrous. I uttered a few supplications, gathered all my mental strength and tried to grab the ratties with sweaty hands. I made previous observations of them being pretty good, easily climbed on all the others. But as soon as it was me, they started running frantically, jerking their bum, turning their head and reaching out for my hand with their sharp teeth. I was scared out of my wits.

The animal handling trainer started laughing, "They can sense you are scared! You have to pick them up with confidence with a firm hand. And hold them close to your body, they don't have disease!"


After days of shaky hands, I finally reached the stage of just laying my hand and the little raties all gather around my hand, sniffing and trying to climb on it. It feels so great to be trusted by an animal.

Then I figured the main reason of my fear of animals. I don't understand why they behave the way they behave. It was the classical case of 'fear of unknown'.

I sometimes wonder if gaining the trust of rats will be the only thing I achieve from a year worth of hard labour termed 'Honours'.

lessons of life: part 1

Never reveal too much about yourself to someone who is unwilling to share anything about herself. It is more likely be a sign of her not being interested in sharing and bonding, not of introversion.

p.s. Naivity is BAD for your health.
p.s.s. Insincerity is worse.

love is in the air

My newly acquired nephew, who, if you ask his age will immediately respond with a shy smile: “My age is three years and nine months”, had an early lesson, a bit too early. He learnt about marriage and became very interested in getting married himself. Few weeks after seeing his uncle undergoing this strange procedure called ‘marriage’, he sat down with his grandmother and declared, confidingly, he is interested in getting married. He even showed the couch where he intends to sit his bride on that grand occasion. He added a bit shyly that his grandmother must ask his mother to let him sit down beside ‘his bride’. He wants to sit beside her and feed her sweets.

Poor child, he has to wait another 20 years or so before his mother lets him do any such thing!

This child never stops surprising me. I have no idea what can he possibly comprehend with his relatively smooth frontal lobe, but I can tell, he becomes very embarrassed if he accidentally sees his uncle showing any sign of affection towards me.

However, he himself is an expert in his expression of affection. The day before I was leaving my husband’s homeland, I couldn’t stop tears from rolling down my cheek when my teary mother-in-law was stroking my head with great affection. Then this little guy climbed on his mother’s lap and put his small arms around my neck, hugged me and kissed my face with his soft lips, as if, he is prepared to heal any of my wound with his affection alone!

Such an adorable little one!

He is just one of the little gifts Allah bestowed on me lately. My mother-in-law, Ammu as I call her, is a woman whose face and words are reflections of her clean and affectionate heart. The very first day she came to see me she emptied her own drink on my glass. I immediately felt the warmth of her heart. When I first went to her house, she insisted on feeding me with her own hand. I was feeling shy, such gestures of affection are generally unheard of in Bangladesh. It is generally the brides who are expected to take care of their mother-in-laws like queens, but mother-in-laws usually treat their daughter-in-laws neither as princesses nor as daughters.

That day I recognised the origin of my husband’s endless capacity of loving and giving.

I must also mention the other mother I lately acquired, my uncle’s wife in relation, but her husband and my uncle conducted my marriage ceremony, which entitled him with the special honour of ‘Ukeel Baba’ according to Bangladeshi custom. My marriage ceremony was held in their house. I have never seen any other couple comparable in their ability of giving so warmly. Specially my aunty, Nargis mami has helped us, the young couple in her own discreet ways. Starting from helping me make the decision of joining with my life partner to helping our romance to survive and flourish in every possible way. She would scold me like a real mother if I spent too long in the bathroom while my husband waited for me, sometimes she would prepare our meal in a tray and tell me to take that to the seclusion of our room, only so that we get a little more privacy. Of course she would never admit that, ‘its only so that I like my kitchen clean, but the kids are running around here, they will go crazy at the sight of food’. I will never forget her long talks on what makes a relationship click (hint: the c word). During our very long stay in her house, I have never felt uncomfortable, always had plenty of food on the table, and never saw the beautiful smile fading from her face. I knew her to be a strong woman with complete control over her emotion, but she was weeping the day I was leaving!

Of course my parents have done everything in their capacity to ensure all these love for me, the best gift any parents can give. And they haven’t washed their hands off me yet, they are still pouring grease to make my journey smooth. I cannot explain how their eyes light up every time they look at the happy and content me.

I have been restraining myself long enough from saying anything about the centre of this post--my friend and life partner. He is a blessing in my life. It has been less than two months, but we don’t even have to look at each other to understand each other, despite of all the differences in cultural context or lack of time spent together. All I can say is, it is entirely Allah’s giving. He knows how to make me feel 100%, complete and he spared no opportunity of doing so in last couple of months. I love his wit, his jokes, his unique way of relating things, his ability to adopt, his soft heart. Of course there are a few things I don’t like about him, but thank god for those, because they are superficial, minor and changeable flaws. Allah is merciful enough to make him an erroneous human through those and not any other major ones.

I thank Allah for granting me the best of the best.

I miss him. A lot.

My inside is a complete mess now. I am torn by many things that are happening around me. There are things I do not understand. I will never understand how can people maintain such implacable double standard. I mean, is that really necessary? Don't they realise how much hurt that causes? I am finding it very difficult to forgive and forget. Honestly, I am very tempted to pray for the same fate for the offender. But, abiding by the advice of my mother-- and so, refraining from all sorts of prayers that may affect the offender, good or bad.
Just now, I laughed out loud by myself, realising how childishly helpless I must sound. I am no Hercules, I can't take revenge, so I just look to my dear, kind, good God.
My emotional self is taunting me with these thoughts, but I can feel a more rational explanation trying to make its way to my heart, but my heart would not let that thought to be comfortable. The rational thought being--this is Allah's way of accepting my prayers for 'the best'. I prayed, so heartily during those Ramadan nights, those Dhul Hijjah nights, for 'the best'. I prayed so that Allah removes anything that is something other than 'the best', and so that He replaces those with 'the best', from wherever that may be. I prayed so that my parents are never dishonored. I prayed with endless tears for 'happiness' in both worlds.
My brother rarely gets emotional. I know him as a sincere person who dislikes any exaggerated show of emotion. I do not want to forget this evening when he hugged me and said he is proud of me, he thinks I deserve nothing but the best. I do not want to forget how hard my parents and my brother are trying for 'the best'.
While writing this piece, I was interrupted briefly by Baba. I have seen him emotional in rare occassions too. He too claimed with quivering voice--he prayed for the best while he was a traveller, the time when all duas are accepted.
I want to be happy, without being delusional. Everything is making me very scared.


I am doing the best I can do-- praying for myself.