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Short Story

A letter of uncertainty

Published : Saturday, 10 February, 2018 at 12:00 AM Count : 818
Rajiul H Dipto

Got your letter in such unsuitable time.
After around a decade.

That morning,
The postman, who is used to carrying our letters, knocked on my door dumbfounded.
Perhaps he is panicked to see your name after so many days,
with the letter, I light the cigarette in search of light,
got your letter in such unsuitable time.

As usual you did not start with dear.
Maybe you have finished with dear this time.
Scratches of medium size, Kajal-black ink pen can easily be understood.

Again smelled your left hand's Arabian jasmine fragrant,
got your letter in such unsuitable time.

Soft hands through writing.
You wrote-
"Won't make the letter long by asking how you are. I am fine. Morning is peeking on this letter through window in my room. I am writing to you. Drop the cigarette. Its color of smoke always confused me. Gray or pale that's the problem. Please, open the window, you will get light.
Six years you are not here. Your neighbor Snighdha, did she get married? Good if not. You will get a shelter. We used to fight so much over her. Anyway, today is my 2 year marriage anniversary. Monsieur is at office.
Do you Remember, that rusty red tinned wet platform. Rain always pretended to come but didn't. Still how it used to be wet don't know. It's noon. You lit your cigarette with lord-ish cap over your head and the smoke struck my nose, according to you which is an aristocratic nose. The time I coughed for, in that time maybe the innocent stones along the rail line from Lalitpur to BBC Bazaar can be counted.
You said sorry. Just that one word, that first meeting. The strangest thing is, today is that first acquaintance day. People get married in two ways. Heart's marriage is the real one. Maybe that day we completed our heart's marriage.
You have not sent me letter for six years.
Lalonbabu, from my house, who used to carry letters, asks almost every day if there is any letter. I answer no. Truth is, in the 4th drawer of the cupboard in library of my house, inside my certificate envelope, each day a letter named to you take shelter. Just like the same thing which happens in your cupboard's 4th drawer. The lawless hide and seek game of letters.
Today I'm writing to you for the last time; the last letter. These two words are amongst the smallest words of Bengali dictionary. But, when these small words hurt your heart equally, then I start crying; as your heart is bigger than a mountain.
Really, won't you get married? Sometime I feel like screaming against your marriage. Then I think, if I can be selfish, why won't you? You may say that circumstances put everything into a selfish zone. Circumstances do not make people selfish, people are themselves selfish. As usual, girlish weeping is in your habit. Wipe your face. You can at least try not to imitate me now.
Anyway, this time I will be harsh. No more letter on your name in my drawer. With one full stop, I will put stop to all relation. Even if alive, we won't meet, won't finish with dear. You still didn't drop the cigarette. In this color confused life of mine, I won't keep any confusion anymore. The Last full stop is in your name.
Yours,
Shuvashi "
When today I opened the letter, you are not here anymore. You died. The tree we used to walk beneath with all those dried leaves which howled in anger, this letter after all these year, is that much dry. I eliminated that girlish weeping. I understood that you don't always have to eliminate habit in sense.
I want that postman again; want that morning, that Kajal-black ink, that red tinned wet platform with innocent stones, that Arabian jasmine perfume, that four drawer cupboard; I want tears, I want you.
I want self-seeking you.
I light the dying light dry candle under your name,
Got your letter in such unsuitable time.

Rajiul H Dipto is a student
of East West University





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