Excuse Me

This is based on a true story once happened in the south-western part of Bangladesh, a district name Jessore which is my home-town. Please go through it with a sympathetic outlook. Thanks.

Nobody could hold someone else responsible for suicide; it is his or her Solo Drama. Only that self executed person can answer why people commit suicide. The executed person has indeed neither any choice left on Over-ground or in Under-ground and not even in the Sky…therefore…My friend, bye then…that really is my ruination that I am quite out of myself…

It isn’t imperative that I tell why I committed suicide but I can’t help it. I was leading my life as another common fellow girls, only a person is obliged to be responsible for it but I have huge doubt about holding him responsible because I loved him great much and he would never turn around to take me for granted but not that he refused me constantly. I always wished to be the blind follower of his likings but I hated whom he loved, I wanted him along to be mine, that was my only fault and that’s why I committed suicide.

I moved to the capital city for higher studies after finishing my college. I couldn’t bear the numerous city lights for long; I was suffocated with the extra liveliness of the urban life-style. My home-town always attracted me but I had no idea that I would commit suicide going there, the place of my very own. Since, I’ve decided to tell you everything, I must hide nothing else.

I wasn’t a girl of middle-class mind-set although I was from that very social arena, I’d dream of a well-off modern family consisting of my parents and siblings. The priority I’d given as a part of my modern life-style were apparels, toiletries and love-match…the moment I drank alcohol for the first time, I remembered nothing as it was the wave of urban fashion with the newer experiences coupled with friend’s urgent requests; it was felt like the childhood’s betel leaf with ground tobacco from my granny’s hand.

It’s not really the top-most surprising fact loosing virginity to a lover but I felt a bit guilty as I was from a suburb. Tears of joy rolled down from my eyes learning from my beau, we were getting married very soon, great news. Shivering waves were being flowed over my innocent body time after time and it was ended with the presence of something ‘live’ in my womb. I started seeing deep darkness amidst the thousands of city lights.

As usually, lover’s rejection and undeniable abortion were the ultimate consequences. I returned to my home-town with virtually nothing.

There’s almost nothing such a terrorist as time itself, it washes your brain leaving everything behind. I’d never imagined that a missing fellow from my college life was waiting for me to be my friend, my companion at that darkest hour of my hopeless life. He led me towards a new life being a friend and not being a lover…I wished him whole heartedly, “Not only a Friend, you be my Life-friend…”.

Never could I appreciate Nazrul’s music but in sense of his loving appreciation and singing style, Nazrul’s music was being felt eternal to me; he himself exposed me exactly as Leonardo De Vinci used to arrange orchestration to please the Monalisa…But it was entirely impossible for Monalisa to wring out from the dead pallet to her creator with all the dreamy colours, sigh…I felt like that helpless inactive Monalisa…My heart-string started singing…

“Can you get anything? Nothing you can;

You are played in my heart as a rib-breaking song”

His friends flawlessly started gossiping about us…the two is seen together now a days, certainly it’s been going a deep canalling…I was thinking not of a canal rather I’d be happy enough to dig at least a drain…Each and every moment, I was being chased by the intension to dedicate myself to my soul-mate as he was supposed to be…but when the moment came onto my lips, he was much too furious with the constant criticism of his friends and the stress of being apart from his distant sweetheart and he turned about without eyeing me once… .. .I was utterly rejected again…

I truly couldn’t differentiate both the rejections of my life. I took a cold fired look into his eyes and said, “You are an artist, never ever write anything about me, anywhere else and look, I’ve taken a decision and you would be informed shortly…”

I didn’t want to give him that great punishment for he was my bosom pal but the sadness of my broken dream straightway told me, “What you are standing on? Take a look, there’s no ground under your feet” …

Indeed, when I committed suicide, there’s nothing down under but only emptiness… .. .

Author's Note

Please have a look and mark your book because it is based upon a social arena of a suburb of a third world country and it is the true scenario of our nation. I tried to elevate just one issue of our existing society.