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Non-Fiction

A Middleclass Diary

Nasrin Api (Translated by Sabreena Ahmed)
When 1 was born, a nurse at the Holy Family Hospital laid me beside my mother and smilingly said, "Your daughter is very fair.
When she grows up. she'll be so pretty that nobody will be able to take their eyes off her." My mother was overwhelmed to hear it; that moment was one of the few happiest ones of her life. She used to tell this story at dinnertime on almost all my birthdays, her face lighting up with joy. However, as 1 grew up. my complexion started turning darker and darker. Then mother would tell the same story with a certain melancholic strain in her voice.
Her last sentence would be. "How did you become so dark...? And I thought that I wouldn't have a hard time marrying you off..."
I don’t blame her for the melancholy. Maybe the reason behind it was that she herself had suffered because of her dark complexion Though her two sons were not fairer than 1. it didn't make her sad even a bit “I'll bring two fair brides in my house and the entire house will brighten up.” she would laughingly say to people
In my childhood 1 was known as a well-behaved girl. But there was reason enough for this. After I had been promoted to Class Four. I was prohibited from playing outside--! abided by the rules like a good girl and started to enjoy reading books. The government colony we lived in had boys who Would whistle at girls and tease them, but the girls were the ones who got blamed for this. The older residents would say. “You see how the girls of the colony stand on the verandas and windows? How can these boys control themselves?” So I always stayed inside the house like a good girl. I do not remember if I had ever stood on the veranda after I was in Class Six. My parents and brothers used to accompany me whenever I needed to go out. This included going to the market or visiting relatives. I never wished to go anywhere else. My school friends used to live far away and traveling that distance was considered a great sin. I committed that sin only twice or thrice until I graduated from Class Ten. Was I not a good girl!
Though my family had given freedom to Choto Bhaiya (my immediate elder brother) in his teens he did not utilize it. He used to stay at home and read books instead of indulging in adda or chatting with friends. The behaviour that made Bhaiya an introvert', however, labeled me as a 'good girl’. Father was worried about him, "How can I help my youngest son? He's become such introvert... he won't leam how life is in the real world." it meant that it wasn't important for girls to know about the world as much as boys.
When I was in Class Eight a new student was admitted to my school. Samrin. My views began to
change after 1 became friends with her. Her father lived overseas while her mother, a doctor, was always busy with hospital, clinic, studies, etc., all day long That is why Samrin had to do everything by herself from childhood. They lived in Eskaton--quite far from our school at Agargaon. Sometimes she used to come by car or on her own by scooter. I was taken aback when she had informed me that sometimes she even traveled by bus to save money for her personal expenses. It was beyond my imagination to think ot traveling by bus as an Eighth Grader. After knowing Samrin I realized that one should not stop going out into the world just because one was a girl. One could manage to do anything one wished--all it needed was a little self-confidence. When we were in Class Ten, Samrin took me to Gausia market to buy cloth and give it to the tailor to make her a dress. It was the most memorable day of my whole school life, because I had traveled so far outside my home without any member of my family accompanying me. In my family it was impossible to think of a girl going alone to the market to buy something, and then place an order for a dress with a tailorshop. When this incident got to be known, my family beat me-because when girls' legs grow long enough for them to travel alone, they have to be cut down to size. But when Bhaiya was rny age. and went for a trip to Comilla to a friend's grandparent's house his legs were thought to be of quite normal length.
In college. 1 was amazed when I entered into Bishwa Shahittya Kendra -innumerable books, a storehouse of world literature and the beacon of enlightened life' fascinated me. On returning home I told my father, “I want something from you. I'll never ask for anything in life from you. Will you give it to me?" I asked for his permission to go to Bishwa Shaittya Kendra every Friday to attend the Book Reading Programme. I was denied permission. Eight years back, however, my Boro Bhaiya had been a regular member of this programme and no one had discouraged him even once. Meaning eight or ten years back my family did not lag behind in terms of reading books--it was just because I was a girl that the discrimination took place.
At every step, my family reminded me that I was a girl, I have limited rights and my demands therefore ought to be limited too.
After my Intermediate examination of 1998,1 got involved with an organization named Uttoron'. For f|ve years thereon I gave it.everything I had, to try and bring about cultural changes. But one day 1 realised that Uttoron' did not practice what it preached. In my final year at Uttoron’, I tried to fill in those loopholes and lift it towards a new direction. But all my attempts were fruitless and the central committee of the organization humiliated me at every step of the way. At last I wrote quite a few pages of complaint and submitted it with my resignation. In answer, the organization decided to expel me from the group. I would have had no regret if the matter remained only at that point, but then 'Uttoron' told all the other university- oriented organizations that “Nasrin Api has been expelled from the group for having an affair with an Awami League cadre which is against the main principles of the group." The whole thing was made up. 'Uttoron' wrecked years of my work, integrity, sincerity and commitment to hide its own weaknesses. A girl's reputation can be easily sullied and everyone easily believes it. That’s because whether or not it is true, the 'flaw' in her character serves as a juicy story to all. Resigning from the group was based on the dictates of my personality, conscience, thoughts and ideals. Yet how easily it was converted into something else! Wishing to be treated as a human being by members of one's own family is quite absurd when a progressive organization like 'Uttoron' judges women in this way.
In 2002,1 worked with some of the teachers and other learned people during the revolt against police's beating-up of students of Shamsunnahar Hall at Dhaka University. The respected people who teach and impart knowledge to us are also not free from taking women as "mere women”. One or two teachers said in their speeches on that occasion, "Women are mothers, sisters. The university was disgraced by the torture done to the girls at night.” It seemed as if the incident was scandalous not because they were students of this university but because they were girls--as if people would not have reacted in the same way if the incident had taken place in one of the boys' halls. (I agree that not all the teachers thought in the same way). When the Vice Chancellor resigned after the nine-day revolt, the activists were taking some time to decide whether the hungerstrike should be withdrawn before other demands were fulfilled. A progressive-minded teacher shoved me aside and almost scolded me,
“You're a woman, and you don't understand politics. Tell everyone to break their fast.” 1 answered back in a cold voice, "Sit down, please. The decision will be taken based on everyone's opinion." I was shocked to see his way of talking to me. I had stood in the front row of the procession for the last nine days. When the students of the procession were assailed by tear gas, rubber bullets and lathi-charges of the police on 24 July, I was the one to step forward and shout, “Don't go, we have to stick together.” And now I had been told that I was a "woman". Maybe I did not understand politics well due to my young age, but not because of my gender. When after those nine days the rebellion continued, I was advised by several anxious well-wishers, “Be careful. They might beat you up to set the event as a rape case." They seemed to be more frightened about my reputation being tainted rather than my being killed. It is normal in today's world. Reporters' newspapers sell like hot cakes if the word "rape” is associated with any girl's name and this word begets fear among middle-class society. Last year 1 had to go on a work-related tour to different districts. It took me to Comilla also. After finishing a day-long workshop I had reached Comilla at 10 p.m. A very dear friend of mine lived there. It was quite fortunate--or perhaps unfortunate--since it also happened to be my birthday and he had been waiting for me since 8 p.m. to wish me on the occasion. As soon as I reached there I informed my colleagues and went out with him for dinner. I returned in an hour. But that one hour reminded me once again that I was a 'woman', and that I was also a 'woman In the workplace.' Everybody from my coordinator down to each and every senior colleague rebuked me by saying, “You shouldn't have gone out with a male friend at 10 o'clock at night.” My fault was not in going out to have dinner but going out with a male friend. But I am certain that had it been a male worker instead of me who had gone out with either a male or female friend, it wouldn't have bothered my seniors at all.
Traveling by bus is a cheap and fast way to get somewhere. I never sit on the seats reserved for women in the bus--I hate such condescension shown to women in the name of respecting 'women's rights'. I take any seat in the bus. If there is no seat available, 1 do not hesitate to stand. A friend in my department named Sunny commented on women like me, “The girls of Dhaka city are shameless--is it a need to get massaged by the guys in bus!" Only men have the necessity to travel fast and cheap!
The first production of our recitation group Swapnoghuri was titled Ami Tomar Bangladesher Meye' which meant I am Your Bangladesh's Daughter', which portrayed the various oppressions women have to suffer in life. The secretary of the University Debating Society and my friend Sumon commented, "Now-a-days, it's become a fashion to talk about women's rights.” He sounded as if discussing or fighting for women's rights was a sign of femininity!
I cannot think of myself anything but just' a woman and cannot break the usual norms of 'feminine' qualities or behaviour set by society because my culture (which does not feel the need to keep a pocket in women's clothes), my family, friends, classmates, teachers, cultural groups, workplaces and society itself reminds me each minute of every day that I am just' a woman and my contributions will be judged only on the basis of my being a woman. Who is responsible for this? Will the wise people of our society also term this inquisitiveness as mere 'femininity'? •Abridged and adapted for publication length. First published in Chandraboti, Nari Bishoyok Chottokago), 2006.
Sabreena is a student of English at Dhaka University.