মেয়ের ডায়েরি থেকে, on male gaze

আমার মেয়ে যে কখন এতো বড় হয়ে গেলো বুঝতেই পারিনি। ও এখন বাঙ্গালোরে। ও নেই দেখে ওর টেবিল ঘাটতে গিয়ে দেখি ও ওর ডায়েরিটাই ফেলে গেছে। একটা পাতা উল্টে গেলো, আমি চমকে উঠলাম, দেখি আমাকেই লেখা।

বাবা,

তোমাকে আমি কখনও বলিনি, আজ বলছি। আমার তোমাদের কাছে একটা প্রশ্ন আছে. male gaze  নিয়ে। তোমাদের, মানে পুরুষমানুষদের কাছে। আমি যখন খুব ছোট ছিলাম, তখন থেকেই দেখতাম আমি যখনি বেরোতাম, স্কুলে বা কলেজে যেতাম তখন পাড়ার মোড়ে, বাসে, ট্রামে ছেলেরা বা লোকেরা আমাদের মেয়েদের দিকে একটা অদ্ভুত ভাবে তাকিয়ে থাকতো, তাদের চাহনি দেখে মনে হতো যেন তারা যেন চোখ দিয়ে আমার জামাকাপড় খুলে ফেলছে। আমি এই কথা তোমাকে কি করেই বা বলি, তাই ডায়েরিতেই লিখছি। কেন এরকম হবে বাবা? তুমি কি কখনো এরকম ভাবে কোনো মেয়েদের দিকে তাকাও? Please তাকিও না। 

থেমে গেলাম। আমার মনে আছে আমি এরকম ভাবে তাকানো অপছন্দ করতাম দেখে বন্ধুরা আমাকে ঠাট্টা করে gay বলতো! এই ভাবতে ভাবতে আবার ওর লেখাটা পড়তে লাগলাম।

এই gaze টা এমনিই একটা ভয়াবহ জিনিস যা আমাদের কাছে একটা বিভীষিকা। আমরা যেখানে থাকি ঠিক সেইখানেই ছেলেরা বসে চা খায় আর জোরে জোরে কথা বলে। আর পাড়া দিয়ে কোন মেয়ে গেলেই আপাদমস্তক দেখে। আর আমরা যারা dress পরি তাদের দিকে এমন ভাবে তাকায় যে মনে হয় ওরা বলছে, 'আয়, তোকে রেপ করি, ড্রেস পরেছিস যখন তখন নিশ্চই ছুঁকছুঁক করছিস?' আর যারা শাড়ি পরে তাদেরও কিন্তু ওরা ছাড়ে না। 

আমি জানি বাবা যে এর বিরুদ্ধে কোনো আইন নেই, থাকলেও সেটা কার্যকরী করা সম্ভব না। যারা এরকম ভাবে না তাকায় তাদের ওরা দলে নেয়না। কিন্তু তাহলে কি করা বাবা, আমরা যে প্রত্যেকদিন ওই চোখের দৃষ্টিতে গুলিবিদ্ধ হয়ে যাচ্ছি! তুমি জানো, চিত্রার মা একবার ঐসব ছেলেগুলির দিকে উল্টে তাকিয়েছিলো বলে ওর বাবা কি বলেছে? বলেছে, তোমাদের নত, নম্র হয়ে থাকতে হবে, তোমরা ওই লোকগুলোর দিকে না তাকালেই পার? তুমি কেন ঘুরিয়ে তাকিয়েছো? ওরা তো তাকাবেই নাহলে আর কিসের পুরুষমানুষ? তুমিও কি এইরকম ভাব বাবা? তোমার মনে আছে বাবা আমার যখন ছ' বছর বয়েস তখন আমি একটা স্কার্ট পড়েছিলাম বলে আমার এক বন্ধুর মা আমাকে কি বলেছিলো? যে আমি কেন এরকম অসভ্যের মতো ড্রেস করেছি? আর তাই শুনে তুমি ঝগড়া করেছিলে? Do you remember? আমরা যে কোনো বয়েসেই স্কার্ট পড়লেই আমরা অসভ্য হয়ে যাই? আর আমাদের দিকে এরকম দৃষ্টি নিয়ে ওরা তাকায় ওদের পৌরুষ দেখানোর জন্য?

বাবা, তুমি তো scientist, তুমি আমাদের জন্য please একটা কিছু ইনভেন্ট করো যাতে আমরা invisible হয়ে যেতে পারি! তুমি কি হাঁসছো ? কিন্তু এটা লিখতে গিয়ে আমি কাঁদছি। I am bleeding from inside! I feel like Draupadi! লোকেদের এই তাকানো আমরা আর সহ্য করতে পারছিনা বাবা! ওরা পাড়ার মোড়ে কিংবা বাজারে বসুক, কিন্তু এরকম ভাবে আমাদের বাজারে যেন না নামিয়ে নিয়ে আসে!

ওর ডায়েরির এই পাতাটা পরে আমার চোখ খুলে গেলো। মেয়ে আমার বড় হয়েছে, অনেক কিছুর মতো এটাও মানিয়ে নিতে হবে, এটা বোধ করি পাল্টানোর নয়, ওকে invisible করে দেবার ক্ষমতাও যে আমার নেই!

বাবা হয়ে নিজেকে এত অসহায় কখনও বোধ করিনি। ওরা কি তবে সত্যিই দ্রৌপদীর মত মহাভারতের পথে আজও হেঁটে চলেছে?

পরের পাতায় দেখলাম এই নিয়ে ওর লেখা একটা কবিতা।

Male gaze

O Krishna! There is no law that can protect us from male gaze

We feel awkwardly exposed, harassed, and perpetually out of place.

Can you please make us invisible when

We have to face them willy nilly?

Their hungry, hostile gazes so often 

Tear us apart, they stare at us and bully,

Like Draupadi, we have tears of terror, 

Rolling down our cheeks,
We feel helpless and weak, free us

Dear God, from this curse. 

Disclaimer

আমার মেয়ে আক্ষরিক অর্থে না নিয়ে মেয়ে হিসেবে নেওয়াটাই প্রার্থনীয়। 

নমিনি

জীবনের এর বয়স ৮২, প্রচুর সম্পত্তির মালিক, কিন্তু দুশ্চিন্তা একটাই, এতো সম্পত্তি কাকে দিয়ে যাবেন? রাস্তা ঘাটে যখন লাঠি নিয়ে বেড়োন তখন চোখকান সজাগ রাখেন, যদি কাউকে পান তো নমিনি করে যাবেন। এই তো সেদিন একটি ছেলেকে দেখলেন গরীবদের জামাকাপড় দিতে, ভাবলেন ওকে ডাকবেন, কিন্তু না ডাকতে গিয়েই পিছিয়ে এলেন, ভাবলেন ও কেন ফোকটে এত্তোগুলো টাকা পাবে? কম ত না...দু কোটি, তার ওপর সোনাই আছে ৬৬ ভরির ওপর, হীরের একটা মুকুটও আছে! তার ওপর তিনতিনটে বাড়ি। যেই বাগান বাড়িতে উনি থাকেন, সেটা তে দেশীবিদেশি ফার্নিচারে ঠাসা। কিন্তু জীবন সেন একদম একা, কেউ কোথাও নেই., যারা ছিল, সবাই গত, খুব কম বয়েসে বিপত্নীক হয়ে ওই একাএকাই থেকেছেন আর দুহাতে শুধু রোজগার করেছেন, ফার্নিচারের ব্যবসা, এখনও রমরমা। মাঝে মাঝে বিষন্ন হয়ে দুয়েক লাইন কবিতাও লেখেন। "আমিই বটে সুখী, আমিই বটে ধনী, আছে বিপুল সম্পত্তি, নেই কোন নমিনী", এই লিখে সেদিন ফুঁপিয়ে ফুঁপিয়ে কাঁদলেন। একদিন ইংরিজিতে একটা পুরো কবিতাও লিখলেন। সেটা আবার ছাপালেনও, একটা ব্লগে সেটা আবার পোস্টও করলেন তারই এক বন্ধুর নাতির সাহায্যে। প্রথমে শুরু করেছিলেন, I have money, but no nominee তারপর সেটা কেমন কৌতুকের মত শোনাচ্ছে বলে অনেক ভেবে চিনতে পরিবর্তন করে ফাইনাল ভার্শনটা এইরকম দাঁড়ালো:

Jibon has lots of money He is 82, has no nominee. Suspicious, alone He doesn’t believe anyone. Horrified with a strange worry! He can neither distribute his wealth To cure poor children’s health Nor can he donate it to anyone unknown; Those enormous fortune is lying locked up As unfortunate prisoners, They are of no use, they are all losers. But Jibon is in search of someone to whom he could hand over the dead fruits before he is gone. এইরকম ভাবে খুঁজে খুঁজেই দিন যায়। কোনোদিন ভাবেন কাগজে বিজ্ঞাপন দেবেন, কোনোদিন ভাবেন অনাথ আশ্রমে বা অন্য কোথাও দান করে যাবেন, কিংবা কোনো এনজিও তে দান করবেন, এইসব নানারকম চিন্তা করেন। কিন্তু কিছুতেই আর কাউকে দিয়ে উঠতে পারছেন না! কিন্তু কবিতাটা লেখার পর তার যা একটা আনন্দ হোল তা তিনি ভাষায় প্রকাশ করতে পারলেন না। একদিন তিনি সেই ছেলেটিকে আবার ডেকে পাঠালেন, শুধু তাকে ধন্যবাদ দেবার জন্য। কী যত্ন করে সে তার লেখাটি হাতে ধরে লিখে, তারপর তা ছাপিয়ে তার সামনে তুলে ধরলেন তারপর তার উদাত্ত গলায় সেটা তাকে পড়ে শোনালেন তা জীবন ঠিক ভাষায় প্রকাশ করতে পারছিলেন না সেদিন। উত্তরে, এ আর এমন কি, বলে সে চলে গিয়েছিলো। একটা ছোট্ট ভাব কবিতায় প্রকাশ করে তিনি সেদিন যা আনন্দ পেয়েছিলেন তা তিনি জীবনে কখনও, এতো ধন সম্পত্তি অর্জন করেও পাননি। দিনতিনেক হলো জীবন সেন মারা গেছেন। তাঁর সমস্ত সম্পত্তি লাওয়ারিশ লাশের মত আটকে আছে ব্যাংকের সেভিংস একাউন্টে, সোনাদানা মণিমাণিক্য আছে লকারে। অনেক আত্মীয়স্বজন দেখা যাচ্ছে ঘুরঘুর করতে চিলশকুনের মত, কাটাছেড়া তো হবেই, কিন্তু আল্টিমেটলি ওগুলো কার বুকের জ্বালা, মুখের খিদা মিটাবে তা কেউ জানেনা। যেহেতু তিনি অন্যতম ধনীদের মধ্যে একজন, তাই অনেক পুলিশের লোকজন, সাংবাদিক ভীড় করেছিলেন তার বাগান বাড়ীতে। হঠাৎই অভাবনীয় ভাবে জীবন সেনের ডেস্ক থেকে কবিতাটি পড়ে চমকে উঠলেন সাংবাদিকরা, তার কবিতাটি শোনা গেলো অনেক নিউস চ্যানেলে। কবিতাটির পিছন পাতায় লেখা ছিল জীবন সেনের শেষ ইচ্ছে। প্রিয় প্রেমানন্দ, তুমি সম্পূর্ণ নির্লোভ, এতো যত্ন করে আমার লেখা ছাপালে, ব্লগে পোস্ট করলে, পড়েও শোনালে তোমাকে ধন্যবাদ জানানোর ভাষা খুঁজে পাচ্ছিনা। আমি এইরকম আনন্দ পেলাম যা লিখে প্রকাশ করতে পারছিনা। আমি তোমাকেই আমার সমস্ত স্থাবর অস্থাবর সম্পত্তি দিয়ে গেলাম। ভাল থেকো আর এইরকম নিঃস্বার্থ ভাবে অন্যদের আনন্দ দিও। আমার নিষ্প্রাণ সম্পত্তি স্বীকার করে করে আমাকে বাধিত করো। ইতি জীবন সেন।

No one

Leela aunty, after lunch, was having oranges in her spacious balcony that overlooked the road that was enjoying its lazy afternoon siesta; there was no one on the road, the Indian Sun seemed very warm and comforting.

“Leela Aunty!”
“Who are you?”
“This is Subrata. Class of 1977?”
“What?”

Leela was referred to as aunty (not aunt) by her students as this was the norm to show respect to teachers back in those days. She leaned from her veranda and saw Subrata, an old man, known as a truant in his teens. She could easily overlook his age and recognise his body language, his smile. In her mind, she saw him in his school uniform and smiled back.

“Wait.” She yelled, “Why don’t you ring the bell. (she screeched to her faithful servant) Debol, open the door!”

“No, no, no aunty. Don’t open the door. I have a train to catch, getting late, I just came to say sorry to you, I misbehaved with you the other day. I am sorry aunty.”

He ran away. She could see him no more. Leela chuckled to herself:

“The other day? The other day indeed! After 42 years! Sorry?”

She threw the skin of the oranges in the bin, which she stored for her skin treatment, also as compost and for various purposes. She jumped out of her skin and called Sushreema from her landline. Subrata she remembers was her classmate.

“Hello Sushreema!”
“Hello aunty, how are you?”
“I am fine. Listen, I hope you remember Subrata?”
“Yes aunty, he was my best friend, shocked to know he had a train accident a while ago and died on the spot. But how did you know Leela aunty.”
“What?”

“I opened the door Leela didi, there’s no one”, Debol replied, waking up from his afternoon slumber.

“Okay, okay, okay! Where is the remote??”, worried Leela screamed and switched on the television, heard the breaking news of a train accident. The number of spot deaths was increasing every minute. She became the newsreader.

Debol knows it's a regular thing that's happening in the house since a long time, her Leela didi did not talk to anyone. The landline, the television, the remote control are dead gadgets occupying the space in Leela’s room since decades. She will simply not let go of anything from her room, her world.

“Who were you talking to Leela didi?” Debol asked.
“Shut up and do your work Debol. I was talking to no one.”

Debol smiled and went off to sleep.

Strange

On a Sunday afternoon, Robert was invited to an Indian family. Although he doesn’t take a liking to spicy food, he thought he’d give it a try; besides he thought that once in a while change of taste was okay.
Strange as it seemed, he had taken a liking on a particular course, the mix vegetable. As goes the belief in Sukumar’s household, that if you mixed all vegetable the juice it secretes while cooking adds to the taste, also it is very healthy.

While eating, he met a man his age with whom the conversation went like this:

- Good afternoon. This is Robert.
- Good afternoon. This is Roger.
- Ha ha ha! I see you are also enjoying the same course?
- Yes indeed.
- Strange as it might sound, but I must have seen you somewhere. You must be on my whatsapp group?
- Not really.
- Then we must be on FB? Or on IG maybe?
- Not really. But I find this strange too!

As they exchanged cards, they discovered they were next door neighbors.

Some part of the flash is borrowed from one of the WhatsApp forwards.

Free Barbie

What do you think of me huh? 

A puppet, a doll?
Or even worse, a ping-pong ball?

Barbie was disappointed with her parents. Her mother Piya, one fine morning, just went absconding... until,  two days later, she was found safe in her grandpa's place. 

Domestic violence? Yes she agrees, but who would abandon her only child to seek refuge like this? She was only 12 when this happened to her! Angry, violent, withdrawn, she felt rejected by her own mom! 

Not one day did she call her up to find out how she was! So cruel? 

She needed her the most during her teens. She isn't able to take it anymore when elders of her family advise her now to go to her mom? Isn't she a monster why should she go to her at all? She feels blessed to have her Bomma (big mother, her father's elder brother's wife) by her side when she needed a mother figure to fall back on, especially when she suffered acute chest pain, fever, or migraine, or when she was unsure of falling in and out of love. 

In all these seven years, she tried hard, at least for the first few months, to see that her Mom came back and settled their differences, but what do you do when adults mess up with their lives? Their children suffer... but does it bother them at all? She gave up on her Mom and concentrated on her studies. She somehow survived her school days withstanding immense verbal torture from her schoolmates, their parents, from friends in her neighborhood.

'Hey where's your Mom? She just disappeared? How's this possible!'

If only her father could forgive her Mom, Barbie wondered at nights. But life is never a fairy tale! What if Barbie died? She attempted once, wasn't successful cutting the veins from her left wrist. Even then her mom didn't come. She doesn't matter to her at all???

And now after all this, elders of her family, except her Bomma, are asking her to go her Mom? Why should she? No, never.

It's not that she likes staying with her father and his family either; staying here with Bomma is also insulting in a way, she has to be obliged to her all the time. She hated the word 'sacrifice'... the word got the better of her. Then there's this 'who called, did they call, why, no you won't go alone, wait I'm coming with you'... it feels as though she's under lock and key, she wants to be on the lose! But how she wouldn't know!

'Bomma, why didn't you have your own child?'

'I wasn't capable Barbie. Also I stopped trying after Piya abandoned you.'

Where should she go? She's determined to crack the CAT exam and make it to the IIM, Ahmedabad and build a world of her own. She's thankful to have a handful of friends who don't judge her; they accept her as she is...why wouldn't they, what's her fault? Yes one fault was to be born into this family, or to be born at all? One thing is sure, she will never ever get married.

That's final.

Barbie is just nineteen. As she grows up she'll understand that nothing is final.

She'll also understand that it was because of her Mom she got to see the light of the world; her IIM exams, her friends, her Bomma wouldn't be possible otherwise. The realisation that her Mom could leave because she was sure of Barbie's well-being? Piya after all came from a rich family, both her parents being doctors, with many domestic help. Piya couldn't take it any more when she was asked to cook for the entire family; she wasn't given anything to eat because she didn't cook. Could be her Mom tried to take her along; the other day she received 13 missed calls from an unknown number in her Bomma's mobile, she never got a convincing reply from her when she asked who the caller was! 

'Some stupid telemarketing executive', she snapped. Indian mothers go through situations that are unpredictable and baffling... most of the time it's not within the box! So it could be that her Mom thought what was really good for her, even though it meant giving away her priceless possession? Asking her legally could make Barbie feel like a puppet? Or worse, like a ping-pong ball? Maybe she let go of her. And what if her mom's father wouldn't accept her? When Barbie grows up she'll perhaps find answers to these questions?

And these answers could
fill her with gratitude;
it could liberate her for good,
she could be a free Barbie.
This is based on a true story. Barbie is a third-year student of a reputed college in Kolkata. She studies BBA. Let us pray for her so she gets the very best in life she truly deserves.

Red light

Sujata, like any other child, wanted to study. She was admitted to a good vernacular medium school far away from her neighborhood. 

Initially, she had many friends. She was good at studies, but as time went by she discovered herself as a flutist. Slowly, she became very lonely, this flute became her only company. She stood like Krishna and practised playing the flute for hours. Everyone appreciated her art, but from far. She had this tremendous social scar, that of being fatherless. Slowly, she saw herself sitting alone in the classroom, in the garden. Everywhere.

Today, while she's receiving the Women of substance award, she recounts, with pain, her scarlet past. She received the award for two of her significant contributions to society; one, for setting up a school which teaches acceptance, tolerance, and kindness, where students come from varied backgrounds, including some from her erstwhile neighborhood without feeling ostracized and two, for empowering women who are trained by her in healing through music therapy. 

Dr. Sujata, a true doctor, is asked to end the award ceremony, with her flute. Red lights on, she stood like Krishna and played Pt. Hariprasad Chaurasia's raga Yaman before an appreciative, august audience.

©Supratik Sen

Based on the true story of Sabita Debnath. She recounted her experience in the most popular reality show of Bengal, Didi no 1 anchored by our greatest charismatic personality, Rachana Bannerjee. 

Hands

Her shadow followed him like his own. They were inseparable. Like any other couple, they would also do things together, but there was something unique about this pair. He could sit with her for hours looking at her nimble fingers that wrote dissertations for him, cooked for him, ran softly through his hair, muscular biceps, his wide rough terrains, while his would help her in the kitchen, on the roads, or simply  feel her delicate form dancing, singing, being in the shower, dining; his hands would tell her millions of starry stories gliding through the known meadows; while she would  melt in his hands, he could do anything for her touch. It was as if both the pairs of hands had eyes to see, ears to hear, the foursome knew and played with each other like young playmates.

They were not pressed for time. Both were writers, but their lifestyle was fueled by huge inheritance, or blessings from divine hands, as they would call it! 

- Writing is very fast, isn't it love?
- Fast? How!
- You can wash your hands of a twenty-five-year-old story in just one paragraph!
- Or finish in a flash as they say!

And they laughed together. At other times, they would argue on why Sanskrit literature didn’t have tragedy and why Greek's was so full of them. In the middle of nights, they would wake themselves up, have coffee, talk about losing as winning and other subjects in great depth that couples their age wouldn’t even think of; for instance, how unconsciousness drifts people away from the truth, why relationship is more important than material success, how would Shakespeare talk to Tagore had the two met, and so on; their poor daughter would sometimes come in the middle and say to her parents, perpetually engaged and involved with each other as if the two were one, that she didn’t want to feel like an orphan.

They were known in their neighbourhood not only as lovebirds, but also as responsible parents; one loving daughter was their world. Hands-on activists, they helped the less unfortunate wherever they were and whenever they could. However, they were not attached to any NGOs. A warm and close-knit family, they also helped many people fighting loneliness.

- You are getting more likes now.
- What do you mean?
- Nothing. But I like it.
- Good to know that.

Slowly, they stepped into a strange world, a world where their passion was defined and valued by others. They stopped giving each other a hand; didn’t realize that an invisible monster was invading into their lives. Years ago, they waved off the same monster that attacked them in bits and pieces, as family members; strangely, hostility from their respective parents-in-law and the comfort of blaming them brought the writers closer. Later, both pairs of parents made amends and the monster fled, for good. But this time around it had become very personal. Society never played an important role with them. Their bonding was never affected; they were consciously in their green room practising how to face the stage together. But this time around the monster got the better of them, as there was a room for jealousy they hadn't figured. Words changed, actions weren’t characterizing them anymore, their daughter was unable to recognize them.

They broke off. Now they stay in the same conglomerate, but in three different flats; their daughter, working in an MNC, has also moved out. In all these three flats there is one common picture, a large one that occupies their living rooms.

It is a picture of a beach with a big sand house that looked almost like a ship, built long ago on one of their usual trips to the Kovalam beach in Kerala, in front of which the daughter is seen swinging in the middle of her parents. Underneath, there were these words written in italic:

Nothing can destroy it

With wedding rings still on their fingers, the hands, full of stories, occasionally meet to say hello.