The story of friends is the mirror of life
A song of 'Mohiner Ghoragul' has been circulating in my head since this morning. Sometimes it happens to me. There is nothing anywhere, suddenly one or half of the song of Bemakka rises in the head, and continues to pierce all day long.
One day, for example, the song 'Jeher Hain Ke Par Hain Tera Chumma' got stuck in my head!What a horrible situation all day - I can't get the song out of my head, and I can't listen to the song because I'm in the office, even though the song is very inedible and I don't want to listen to it in the normal state.
But it is the only effective medicine, at least in my case, to deal with the buzz of music that suddenly grows in my head. So I was exhausted by the sting of poisonous love kiss (or, poisonous kiss of love) all day and finally got back home after listening to the song.
Really, what songs has Shanuda sung for us!
Today's song is of course my very favorite song, the lyrics are also quite philosophical. The line that is stuck in my head is ‘If you raise your hand, not everyone becomes a friend / If you raise your hand, you will not find a friend’.
I tried a lot to think about the reason for remembering such an offbeat song, but I could not find any reason for a lot of hair. Latha would have choked once she heard the song, but I thought let's not say that but let's say something about friends. Whatever it is, I will feel very good about myself.
Everyone knows that many Bagha-Bagha people have gone through many Baghat-Baghat quotations with friends and friendship. To me, a friend is a commodity with which, no matter what day you talk to it, except in an era, the tone of the words will remain the same as before, and the conversation will start right after that, where it ended an era (or a day) ago.
But I totally agree with Mohin's lyrics - not everyone is a friend, and not everyone can be friends. Nana Muni has also given different views on this issue, I am not going to do that, I am talking about some of my friends.
My conversation with Gaber was very strange. On the first or second day of college, physics pass classes were going on. A squirrel-type madam was teaching, and I was bored as usual sitting on the bench before the last bench.
Suddenly I heard some swear words coming from the back bench, some samples of which were like this - shit or shit, what's going on; Ore ga…, do not be silent; You fool, you mistyped the equation; Dhushla, all shala ***** (unwritable) etc. I turned my head and saw a Laltusmarka boy talking alone.
Curious, I changed the bench and sat next to him. The rest, history! A decade and a half has passed, Gabor Kheur is still going on, and my curiosity is also, what (or why) a half-baked goods can do such Kheur without any reason!
In fact, there is a strange childish simplicity in Gabar, which is to cover it.
Before we start talking to Gaber, we all give him a three-minute discount - whether he's face-to-face or on the phone, because in those three minutes he and Khantirishek continue to slander in two loops. When we reach the end of the second loop, we are ready, then when the loop ends, we say, "Now tell me, how are you?"
Apart from running a slanderous loop, there are a lot of good qualities in Gabar. Boy Hebby cooks (his range from dalseddha to goat meat, what’s more huge), can tidy up the house very well,
Tidy up the bathroom and kitchen, Sivas can make a cocktail with Regal and Orange juice and eat things like Regal, can make very good roses, and yes, Malta is a huge fan of Kishore Kumar-Sachin Tendulkar-Nachiketa-Sunil Ganguly.
Capa legend of Gabar Gul Mara. Once back from Houston, he said that there was a mall called Galleria, which is 122 storeys high.
Later, when we got there, we saw who had blown up the 119th floor! He was not embarrassed to say this to Gaba and said, “Oh, then that is not it, understand? The house next to him… isn't it huge? ”
However, there is no end to the pride in the mind of his wife and aunt for his skill in housework and cooking.
Gabar's wife, so her name should have been Gobi, but we call her Auntie. Although Aunty was our classmate in post graduation, I became friends with her when I went to the US.
But to be honest, Auntie has less friends, Gargen more. When I went abroad, I realized what the real meaning of the word 'aunt's pity is more than mother's'. Auntie kept us all at her own risk, calling us several times a day to inquire about us.
At that time, the age was low and the blood was boiling, so the rioting was naturally uncontrollable. Aunty, however, used to give us huge threats on the phone whenever we saw her, and we used to enjoy it a lot.
Auntie's concern, of course, is not limited to friends, half-acquaintances, sicichena even once seen, and even for a person who worries a lot, a lot of that sister Nivedita type thing! But the circle of aunt's friends is huge.
Gossip is going on in the meeting or on the phone, someone might say
