'Men, can't live with them or withouth them'

Diary!

I know it has been like for ages since I wrote, but the weeks have been long, hectic, and eventful. Well exams are poping here and there, I might say to everyone that I’m studying but I am actually sitting and reading fiction stories about how a woman gets dumped by her husband after she gives birth to their first child to a fat cellulity neighbour, Watermelon by Marian Keyes. If anything like that would happen to me then I’d track up that bastard, point the *beep* bazooka to his head while he is on his knees begging for mercy, for the extra thrill he’s peeing on his pants. Saying, ‘Babes I forgive you’, and trigger off the massive weapon. Looking at the scene of how the body parts and blood flying/slapshing everywhere (except on me) with an evil grin while wearing military camouflage and 10 inch pin heels on the feet (I’m wearing as if I was born in them) to add up the effect of the sight. And like all the James Bond movies, where the crook laughs recklessly after killing an innocent creature, I laugh.
So now you can imagine how my first exam went? Well actually you can’t as I woke up that morning and decided not to go and do the exam though I think I’d do well if I only studied the day before instead of watching Grey’s Anatomy and drooling over Dr. Burks firm/muscular body (which I was scanning in through the TV screen, through his surgical clothes). But as my mum had to open her mouth with asking ‘Class nai? Why aren’t you going?’. I stupidly say that I have.
4 hours out of the house and no where to go except for going nomadic around in streets, I find it high time to meet up with my old love. Plus that I got a bill for being late with some books, so I wander up the stairs to city library. My old love, standing there like always, I realised that I missed this place a lot. This is where I used to run away during the days, if I needed to be alone or skip class, you could find me in the library reading novels. I just don’t get it how my parents couldn’t figure out where I was, they saw me coming home with tones of books everyday. Still they didn’t understand where I mysteriously disappeared, mostly they thought I was roaming around the streets holding the hands of this tatued and pierced Western white boy, which soon likely to end up in jali. I only wish!
Anyway so at the counter I return the books, and get a bill of 110 -- (wouldn’t you like to know the currency). Well in my wallet I have a note of 100 and 500 and a lot of coins. So leaving the 500 in the wallet, I count altogether 109.50! 0.50 missing! Determined not to use the 500 note, I look all my pockets for a 0.50. Then a handsome man comes up asks the lady behind the counter about a book. Not knowing how handsome that blond haired, blue eyed creature was. I beg a 0.50 from him. I never ever, in my wholesome life begged for money from anyone. Have a hard time to even ask my parents, but I asked him! All of a sudden I felt like the Little Match Girl from H.C Andersen’s story, though she had something to sell unlike to me!!! Actually it was more like I was standing in a cold day in St. Petersburg, with yellow brownish teeth, some of course missing. Wearing torn and patched up dirty clothes with a body odour stinking all the way to Tanzania, shouting ‘Need of 0.50, please sir show mercy to this humble homeless, though I have a note of 500 on me’, with a pity he throws up a 1 instead 0.50. Well it wasn’t a pity, he didn’t have a 0.50. Anyway just to show gratitude I let him go ahead with his question though I was before him. As I was standing there, watching how the lady and he was talking I was begging desperately in silent for him to look at me. Just once! But no, he was about to walk way without looking at me, which I couldn’t let him. ‘Thanks’, with a some what sexy voice that made him just look at me and smile. So then he walked away…
I think both me and the lady behind the counter was lusting over him and his firm buttocks I imagine him to have!

Ps. Later when I came home, I manage to find a 0.50 in my sidebag!

Chapter 1

‘Mayaboti!!’ A woman’s scream comes out from the house.

‘Ji Ma, ashchi!!’ As Mayaboti steps into the house she hears her mother’s voice go, ‘It’s always something with this girl, last month she was walking bare feet on the snow and now she is apparently sitting out in the cold and greeting the spring, when will you change, Mayaboti? It’s time for you to come out of your dream world and into real life. You won’t go any far with your silliness, no one will accept it.’ She looks at her with a concern in her eyes.

‘Ma, don’t you worry. No one will have to accept me, my big dream is to become a spinster. Besides who will take care of you and Abbu when you two get old? So better off I don’t get married at all, can you imagine Apu taking care of you? Micro waved food for dinner, must be the best retirement plan for you two, ha!’

‘When will you give up, besides your Apu is an expert in cooking now, I’d be better off with her’

‘Great! That easies my load’, Mayaboti replied with a devilish smirk on her face. With frustration her mother tells her to take care of the laundry and she retrieves back to the kitchen where dinner was cooking.

After finishing the chores she retreats to her room, the only place in her house where she can do just about everything, but mostly be alone. Her room is the lightest place in the house, in the mid day of summer she can light her lamp and still can’t see any light as it blends in with the sunlight. While moving to this house she and her elder sister fought for this room. As elder her sister had the first choice, lucky for her, her sister choose the wrong room.

It’s 6 pm and it’s still light outside, she’s lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling. Her eyes are counting the self gloving stars that she put long time ago, but her mind is absent, it has taken her back in time.

‘Can you cook?’ a playful voice ask.

‘Well I know how to make polao, though I just made it once. And yes I think I remember the recipe of kofta. Oh, and I am very proud of the fact that I can make bhapa pitha! I made it yesterday with ammu. Want any?’

‘Umm… na. I don’t like coconut. So next time you make bhapa pitha make some only with gur.’

‘Achcha, I’ll make some only for you’

‘What about ironing?’

‘What do you think of me? It’s not like Bangladesh that you have a servant doing your chores, you actually have to do it all yourself.’

‘Polishing shoes?’

‘I know all those, but why are you asking these things?’

A tear sheds down her cheek as Mayaboti comes back to reality, she turns around and takes up her mobile phone. Z600 Sony Ericsson, with rainbow stripe clamshell. She always got mocked for the colour during her high school years. People used call it the bathroom matt, of some reason a junior in her math class said that his mother had a bathroom carpet just like her mobile phone.

‘Ki khabor?’

‘I’m alive, can’t complain.’

‘Well you don’t seem to, haven’t heard from you awhile now. Are you sure there isn’t something?’

‘Mayu, nah it’s nothing. I’ve been just busy with studies and all those things. You know how it is. So how’s your life going?’

‘The same old, the same old things Julz.’

‘Have you been thinking again? Mayaboti, what have I said about that. Don’t put yourself down just because of all that.’

‘I am not, trust me. It’s just those moments when you have nothing to do and you just get caught up in everything. Anyway don’t worry, I’m just doing fine. So how’s your future planning going?’

‘Oh don’t remind me about that Mayu. My head is upside down. Plus Ammu is on my back again about Dipu. Apparently auntie has been asking Ammu about me. I don’t know what to do. Everything is just a huge mess.’

‘Well I know what you shouldn’t do, that is listening to your mother. You are still young, plus we were supposed to go for a Europe trip. So I can’t let Auntie ruin all these things, I’ll guess in the end I’ll have to kidnap you. Just imagine huh?’ Mayaboti says with a devilish smirk on her face. ‘Yeah, I’d like to see Ammus face then!’ Julie replied laughingly. ‘Shuno, talking of the beast, she is calling for me. I need to go now, I’ll call you later.’

Prologue

Out at ones backyard, where the green grass is still wet from previous winter’s cold. A playful wind blows around, with the smell of wet grass, smell of spring.
Trees that once were full of leafs, are again coming to form, with growing buds. Though the weather is cold, the sun heats up the girl, who’s sitting out in the terrace.
On a wooden chair, with her bear feet up, curls around a blanket, while she writes away in her book. Sometimes she stops, just to move the lock of hair that falls on her face, as the wind teases her playfully. Or just to catch a breath…
…There sits Maya, Mayaboti.

Salaam Diary!

Buying you were unnecessary, as the modern days takes us to a quicker and easier way to express ourselves with all the high speed gadgets. Typing on the computer, recording my voice or even myself on the camcorder etc, though lucky for you (even though you weren't as cheap as expected, where is the world economy going?!) I've a hundred year old soul and a very bad hand writing which needs to be trained due only for future exams.
Well after seeing Bridget Jones Diary and reading devotedly to the series of Adrian Moles Diaries I've challenged myself to write a journal. Unlike to Bridget, I am a non-drinking/smoking-much younger-much tolerant-Muslim female. Instead of having an emotional nutcase, a feminist and a gay as friends, I have an overconfident stud, a genius nerd and an angel, hence two male and one female. Like I always say to my mum after she questions me for having so many "boy" friends; "In every party I see you always sitting with THOSE, and you are a Muslim girl, what will people say?" The day that THOSE typical westernized Bengali girls will stop gossiping about who did or wore what, and start talking about sensible issues that is the day I sit/eat/sleep with them. In another term, never!
Not that I have anything against a group of girls, whining about their hair, make-up and clothes and their boy trouble. But the fact that the subject doesn't change makes me want to jump off a bridge, that's why one female friend is more than I can take.
Speaking of the angel, she hasn’t called for some days now, time for a check up call for an update on her future education choices. I on the contrary can barely decide what to choose, one moment I like to be the female version of Dr. Shetty, and then in another moment I want to join a Muslim nun convent (if there are any) and become a Mother Theresa, Sister Mayaboti.
...Oh the witch is calling for me!