Dear Shahreen Ammu (one of my dearest ladies),
You see, I am starting the letter as it should be in a Bangladeshi way, as you also do it in your letters. That is how it should be. At least for us, the first generation migrants. Though you are of the same category (as you were born in Bangladesh ) I consider you as a second generation migrant. I am really proud of you for having the acknowledgement of your roots in your heart. It might not be the perfect, it might have many defaults but still that gives me and you our identities. And you did not forget that – I am proud of it.
You wrote in your e-mail dated February 18, 2005:
“i came across this today as i was idly sitting by when i have a hundred things to do rather than kill time. i thought you would find the story interesting.
after reading the story:
i don't draw a similarity between the protagonist and myself because unlike her i am disdainful of becoming "Americanized" for i am ferociously proud of my roots and my culture and would bash anyone who would dare accuse me of being "white-washed". yet i must admit it brings back slight memories of a childhood i've not long ago left behind.
unlike her i am ardently proud of my mother. yet i do remember the times when we lived in a cockroach infested apartment that i had wished to be a little more "Canadian". now living the middle-class life with a house and a new car and everything else commercial, i can only be grateful that i am privileged to have more depth in my character as a result of my Bangladeshi roots.
let me know what you think of the story.
cheers,
REZA”
You wrote me in the next e-mail “hey Sadique mama! have i insulted you with the jhumpa lahiri story? i don't know if you've even read it but you usually respond quite quickly.” Well I wrote you why I could not reply in good time. But I do not find any reason why and how you can insult me with the Jhumpa Lahiri’s story Hell-Heaven.
Well I promised to write you my opinion about the story. And obviously I will try to do so.
I found the story quite interesting. If we just change the names of the characters in the story with some known names, and change or omit a few places, the whole story can become our story, and as you mentioned, it will be a story of not long ago, memories of a childhood you have not long ago left behind, though that is at Another Time and Another Place. For example we can change Jhumpa with Shahreen, Pranab Chakraborty with Sadique Hasan , Shyamal Da with Faruk Bahai, Aparna Boudi with Benu Bhabi and so on. You see the similarities. It is really amazing.
Let me start from the beginning. I find the whole story as facts what can happen, had happened and will happen again in this time dimension. That is the way we Indians/Bangladeshis/Pakistanis behave. That is what happened to us too. That is the way I become your Sadique Mama (uncle Sadique) and your father become my Faruk Bhai (brother Faruk). And we consider ourselves to be of the same family. It started in Dhaka when your father got my telephone number and name from one of our common friend Tariq Ashkari. Tariq was then already in Norway . I and your father were preparing for the new journey. Being born and brought up in a society where there is almost no social welfare system exists, we always try to get acquainted with people we think will be of help. This is what still very natural in that sub-continent. As you know more the rich and powerful uncles (connections) you have more powerful you will be in Bangladesh . So that is what we learned and that is what we knew. Having all these in mind your father called me once in Dhaka , explained everything and wanted to meet me for further discussion. For me it was a golden opportunity to have someone known in an unknown place without giving any reasonable effort. So you can imagine how happy I was of meeting him on that day. We discussed about the coming journey, I do not remember particulars, and we promised to meet in Bergen . I must admit I am really lucky too of having you in my life.
When I arrived in Bergen on August 21 1983, a Sunday, it was in the evening. The reception at Fantoft Student Town was closed. So I contacted your father, the only person I knew in Bergen at that time, and asked whether I can stay with him for the night – assured him about moving out to my room on the next day. You see the connection helps. I got the right to ask your father for staying overnight and your father was obliged to help me, just because of a common friend and a few minutes talk in Dhaka . Well I do not find anything wrong in it. In the west when someone is in my position he/she would have chosen to stay in a hotel, in the name of privacy and self dependency. Well I respect privacy and self dependency but sometime you need people around you. We the Bangladeshis may go far but something in between would have been perfect for me.
As per information I received from the University of Bergen I knew that I will be staying with another student in the same flexible dormitory at Fantoft in Bergen . I was wondering who he can be, and was telling your father about my curiosity. We had a long walk on that evening from Fantoft to the University and back. So we (at least I) were tired and went to bed after the dinner a bit earlier. Surprisingly I came to know on the next day that it is your father I will be sharing my flexible dormitory at Fantoft. And that was the starting of our relation, our family life. We become a couple for one year, making food together, sharing the dormitory in all aspect, inviting guests as if they are friends to both of us even when only one knew that/those guest(s) – of course some of them includes the Bangladeshis who are our common friends and acquaintances.
Well, may be it was me who invited the most. I was and I am still now a party boy – I like to have people around me all the time. May be it was there from my birth but exposed especially after 1975 when I started at Jahangirnagar University . I got my freedom to run my own life (though not economically) for the first time. And I utilized the opportunity by trying to have a “Hippie” life in all respect well within the social boundaries of the Bangladeshi society – having long hair, wearing torn and dirty jeans, having wild parties (in Bangladeshi sense) and so on. But one thing is for sure our group was and still is kind, honest and humble. No one can blame us for doing anything wrong or hurt anyone during that period. As far I am concerned I never tried to hurt someone intentionally. Moreover despite our hippie outlook we were loved by all in the campus due to our respect to others. And we tried to take our studies seriously.
Anyway, I should admit that I should have given a bit more time to study – for a bit better result – which could have led me to have a Masteri (teaching) job in Bangladesh – and a life in Bangladesh (which I still miss). On the other hand I might not come to Bergen and come to know a beautiful lady like you. Moreover I came to know so many people here in Bergen who enriched my world of friends. I am proud of that. To name a few of them I can name Shaibal and Tapati, Ishtiaq and Christine, Sharmin (Rona) and Abu Yousuf (Valo), Quamrul Bhai , Mustafa and Parveen, Talal and Mona, Park Ki Hyun, Manik, Shaheen Ali (Lubna), Raquib, Mofakhar (Masud) and Nasrin, Tamiz and Shirin, Mizan and Tanveer, Manna, Mozaffar and Munni, Tuntu, Alam and Baby, Bazlu, Shahadat, Toufiq and Dana, Moudud Bhai, Haroon Bhai, Zahid and Sweety, Toufiq and Lasna, Shahnaz, Tayab and Bappi, Tirtha and Tania, Maruf and Shimul, Pranab and Chitra, Saifullah and Runa, Yasmeen and Ritu, Mahfuz and Ranjana, and more and more are joining in that world.
So I am happy with that I have now. I do not regret for what I did - I do not regret for what I did not get - I do not regret for what I do not have or could have been mine. I had really a happy life of being a hippie at the Jahangirnagar University .
I migrated with all my characteristics to Bergen . So parties were there. I and your Bob Mama were the initiative takers for all those parties in the weekends (almost all the weekends) here in Bergen . Most of them ended at my room after a visit to different clubs. Unlike other Bangladeshis a few of us were regular customer of different clubs, and I was one of them. It was the same picture here in Bergen as it is described in that Jhumpa Lahiri’s story. The Bangladeshis like mainly to gather together for gossip, talk about people and eat Bangladeshi food. Mostly the women used to cook while talking about saries/ornaments/shopping (past, present and future), and the men were chatting and complaining about hell and heaven. Even being resided in a country famous for its natural beauty very few Bangladeshis have travelled only a few miles to enjoy it.
In fact your father and I started a life together (almost as a couple) just after knowing each other for less than 48 hours. I consider this attitude, which is developed in us as being Bangladeshi, a gift. We can trust people and give all our love and affection to someone we love. When we give anything to our beloved one we do not try keep anything left for us. Where else can you learn this except from your roots? At least I did not find that in the west. I will not say we had no disagreements during our one year of conjugal (?) life but we did not have any disputes. Only the level of respect, honesty and tolerance for our beloved ones can keep us away from disputes, and solve the disagreements/problems with discussions. I think my relation to your father reached that level very soon. We had real fun together in our conjugal life at Fantoft. I have so many memories that I can write for decades even then those will not end. I am lucky to have a brother, a bhabi, a niece and two nephews in my journey through my life.
The next year, in 1984, you and your mother came to Norway . I and your father had to go for a separation. But anyway, I got a niece and a Bhabi (wife of a elder brother) who loved me. As being daughter of my Faruk Bhai you occupied the softest corner in my heart. And Bhabi with her love towards me got her proper position. In Bangladesh Bhabies have a very different role than what you see in the western world. A Bhabi is a mother, a sister, a guardian and a friend, all at the same time. On the other hand the brother-in-law will have the respect for his Bhabi of a mother, a sister, a friend and a guardian. And all these characters have to be there in the same person. That is just obvious in Bangladesh . That is what we demand. That is what we learned to be both the boys and the girls.
I will not say that the relation between Aparna and Pranab is impossible. It happened – it happens – and it will happen. They might be in love without giving that love a life. But it is difficult to evaluate the whole situation. The rules and structure of such emotional relations are so complex that it is almost impossible to understand, the causes of constructions and destructions of such relations, at least from outside. Only those two who initiates the act to construct or destruct such relations know the real reasons. These reasons may even look wrong or immoral in the eyes of third parties. So who can judge such a relation without being partial? We all judge according to some preconceived ideas about right and wrong taught by the society. But for judging anything we need all the information, to evaluate in the light of our preconceived ideas, which can be next to impossible to retrieve. Can we really judge an act or a person correctly without such information? Well, in many cases we try to do so – which according to me is wrong.
Anyway, I can guarantee you that it is only a few percent of the total population, and which can easily be neglected, end with a relation as Aparna and Pranab. In most of the cases, the love between Bhabi and the brother-in-law is a sort of love which is difficult to describe – it is a combination of love between mother and children, between friends, between brothers and sisters. Well the quantity of ingredients in this cocktail varies from case to case depending on the situation, depending on time and depending on place. I am not saying Jhumpa made a mistake in judging the relationship between her mother and Pranab, but there is a chance that she was confused in recognising the love of Bhabi and brother-in-law in an Indian way. It can be difficult to understand that love for someone who is/was not in it, and especially who desires to be considered as a pure western. I can assure you there are so many types of bondages of love you will find in Bangladesh which is just unthinkable in the west even in the wildest dreams. That is what India is, that is what Bangladesh is. This is what I am telling you from my own experiences, and not from a second hand information.
This sort of bondage is only possible in a society where people do not still think totally in a individualistic way as we do in the west. In Bangladesh these pluralistic thinking is again beyond some tolerable limits. It seems to me that my problem is a problem to all those I know and everyone has a different solution. I do not have the scope to think or act only on my own for solving the problem. Mostly the new problem for me is whom should I please by considering his/her solution as the correct and best one. On the other hand the problem might have been solved before giving an effort to solve it beyond my knowledge, as it was a problem to so many people. But the difficult part of this way of thinking is that I might get the responsibility of some problems which under no circumstances can be considered as my responsibility at all. Well that may be the reason why both Psychology and Law is still less demanded subject in the universities in Bangladesh – we generally need these professionals over there, at individual level, to make further problems and not to solve them.
I will tell you something, still today in 2005, I will have to solve the problems, if I am asked, for my Grand Father’s Grand Father’s another Grand Son’s Grand Son, who is, of course, my brother. I know that they will do the same for me if and when necessary. It is only possible in the east, where you can get promises to be looked after whenever you need it, from the wife of a nephew who was totally unknown to you only a few days back. In the west you will not even find the names of these relations, not even in the oldest dictionaries. May be it is only possible in Indian sub-continent, a sub-continent full of myths and mysteries, a sub-continent full of diversities. This is my Bangladesh – this is my Indian subcontinent. I will not say our system and our society is the perfect one. Of course it has many faults and limitations. But it has a lot of positive sides too. No society, no system, no human being is perfect. We should through our experiences and knowledge pick the best of it from different parts to make a better world for us and for all others. I am not sure whether we will ever be able to do so.
Well as of Pranab, I got my full right to be a member of your family. My rights included that I can come to your house whenever I felt like that. Calling your parents for permission would have been insulting them. I am not supposed to insult them in that way. The only problem I should think about is what happens if you were not at home. Then I have to come back all that way without any result. But fortunately, I could have visited others who lived nearby. So why should I call and insult someone I respect so much? While being at your place I can move freely anywhere, I mean anywhere even to the bed room of your parents, enjoy the food whatever I like. Unlike Pranab I was able to make some Bangladeshi foods for my survival, but foods made by your mother had a totally different taste. Moreover I had all the rights to order the food I would like to have from my Bhabi. Who can be such a fool not use that right in this world?
While staying at your place I do not have to think about the privacy of you or your parents. Of course privacy is a word you will not find in Bangladesh . And consequently we did not learn about it much. The only place you have some privacy in Bangladesh is in the toilet. As I remember Americans call the toilet “rest room”. I think the word came from Bangladesh because that is the only place where you can really rest in private alone in Bangladesh .
I hope you have already experienced in Bangladesh , how more than hundreds of people start coming to your bedroom even before you are out of your bed. I am talking about real Bangladesh , in the village. You should not be surprised by finding all sorts of domestic animals and lots of people staring at you while you were sleeping in your bed, and waiting for talking to you when you will wake up. That is not at all unusual. So privacy – I did not have to think about it at your place, moreover I was not a stranger. I was your Sadique Mama, Fakuk Bhai’s younger brother and Benu Bhabi’s brother-in-law. Well, I think among other factors, this lack of sense for privacy comes from the joint family system in Bangladesh where three generations live under the same roof, eat from the same kitchen. I personally do not like the joint family system, but without having any public support system we do not have an alternative.
So the days were just passing by here in Bergen having classes, having parties, having gatherings of Bangladeshi brothers, sisters, Bhabies, nieces and nephews as it should be for an immigrant society. For me and few other Bangladeshis attending the club every weekend was an extra activity along with those named before. As a result of my effort to integrate myself in this society I came to know a few native students. Most of them were girls, and consequently I happened to fall in love with one them, as Pranab did in the story. She used to love you very much, as Deborah did love Jhumpa in the story. You were also very fond of her, as Jhumpa is fond of Deborah in the story. We used to visit you very often, as Pranab and Deborah did visit Jhumpa’s family in the story.
Rest of the story of my life is known to you to some extend. We got married in 1989. You and your family played a vital role in the marriage. It was not accepted by my family to start with. Anyway, they accepted us when they came to know that Daniel is on his way to this world. Daniel was born in 1990 and Benjamin in 1995. And at last we got separated in 1999 as Pranab and Deborah did in the story.
I find another very interesting similarity between my experiences and that what is written in the story. When we love a foreigner we think that we know each others culture, we know each others society, norms and values just by reading some anthropological books and articles or just staying a few days abroad. We think, at that particular moment, that we will be able to overcome the problems that will come in a multicultural family. We think with love we will solve all the problems. In this world love is not enough – we forget that in that particular moment.
In many cases we just overestimate ourselves, we just fail to judge ourselves – fail to evaluate our capability to adjust in a different environment. This adjustment demands a totally different level of efforts, a different level of understanding people. It needs a totally different level of attitude to accept the dissimilarities in the way of thinking – it needs a different level of willingness to sacrifice, even to sacrifice some of you identity - it needs a different level of willingness to respect and recognition, recognition for other norms and values with which one is not familiar with. I do admit many people have those capabilities, but quite often we fail to evaluate our capability to adjust with someone else as a life partner having different skin colour, different language, with different religion, different culture, different norms and values, different way of looking at life, different way of expressing self. This is obviously a difficult task. And when we find it difficult we get threatened as Deborah was in the story. The more we get threatened more we close ourselves inviting more misunderstandings and problems.
I know, from my experiences, in such situation it can be difficult to convey the right message – the words can be misunderstood, the body language can be misleading. It can be difficult even with someone from your own environment – and to a foreigner you can just imagine. I do not think you have ever seen your parents kissing on their lips in your 21 years of life, because we do not do it in front of others or in public places. Do you think your parents have less love for each other, just for that? No never. I do not think Shyamal and Aparna are not in love. But that is a love you might not notice from outside as long as you are a stranger. We do not sit in the park holding each other to show the world that we are in love. We show it with a very different way. I know Jhumpa is not a stranger in her own family, but she might have misunderstood the whole situation.
As you will find it normal to introduce someone, you newly fall in love with, to your family and friends here in the west, in our sub-continent the case will be totally different. In most cases, both the boy and the girl will be shy enough to introduce to each others family. The information has to be transferred to the families through a third person, generally a friend. I hope this will show you how different the norms are in the east from those in the west. Even, quite often, a friend takes the initiative to ignite the last and final spark to activate an emotional relation. Both the boy and the girl involved, are too shy to convey the message that one is willing to be the life partner of the other. What an amazing situation – both of them are willing to join their lives together with love, but can not tell the same to each other. Anyway, I think it is really charming and romantic as if two souls in love playing hide-and-seek in the heaven of love recognizing the fact "Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself. Love possesses not nor would it be possessed; For love is sufficient unto love. (taken from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran)". As if they are recognising "Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself", as Kahlil Gibran described it in his book The Prophet.
To understand this love, in a sub-continental way, one must have to be in a different level of psychological state of mind. I do not think my parents in their 50 years of conjugal life ever, and I mean ever, uttered the words “Ami Tomake Bhalobashi” or in our dialect “Mui tok Bhalobashon” which means I love you. But I am sure they are in love. For us it is not the words but the acts, not the exposures but the expression of feelings, expression of caring matters most. We nourish our love to our life partner in such a different way than the westerns do. Of course there are similarities but dissimilarities are much more. And coping with all these is really a difficult task. And we failed to do so. I failed to judge myself, I failed to calculate the equation of love, the equation of life. I must admit, I miscalculated both in the domestic and international arena of life. Otherwise why should I be alone today after having so many relations in my life? But may be this is part of life in a wider perspective.
But I do not regret for anything. I learned more and more from all these experiences. May be I can judge myself better in the next. I do not regret because it was true at that time when I decided to go for it. It did not work but I do not agree that it was a mistake. According to me at that particular time and at that particular place the decisions were correct. As a result of one of those decisions I have some fruits for which I am proud of, those are worth living in this world, they give me meaning in life.
Never regret for your own decision as long as it is honest. If you fail accept the failure, learn from the experiences both your own and others’, and move on. Do not stop and stand still. Just move on. This world is for those who can move forward. Even your best friends will not stop for you forever. They might stretch a hand to hold towards you, and ask you to move with them. They might try to help as much as they can. If you fail to move forward with them they will leave you. That is the law of this universe. Everything is moving. If I would have stopped in the way of my life for all these tragedies or failures, as many people will name it, I would have been destroyed long long long ago.
Dear Shahreen Ammu, you asked me for my opinion about the story “Hell-Heaven” by Jhumpa Lahiri, and got another story. I am not sure whether I managed to give you my thoughts about the story. I am not sure whether I am capable of judging the characters in the story. But I tried to give you some information. Now you try to find out what is right and what is wrong. Try to avoid the wrongs and implement the rights in your life. The story is just a part of our migrated life. Get the best of it.
You don't have to draw a similarity between the protagonist and yourself, you do not have to be "Americanized", just be yourself. Remember the roots, be proud of it, have confidence in yourself, be honest, kind and humble, be yourself, you will be happy and you will survive. This world is only for the survivors. Remember that – and be strong for the struggle and never give up – never, never, never. Fight for equality – fight for love – fight for freedom - fight for peace. You have to win in this war of life.
My love to you - You will be with me in my heart for ever. Be happy in life.
Sadique Mama
You see, I am starting the letter as it should be in a Bangladeshi way, as you also do it in your letters. That is how it should be. At least for us, the first generation migrants. Though you are of the same category (as you were born in Bangladesh ) I consider you as a second generation migrant. I am really proud of you for having the acknowledgement of your roots in your heart. It might not be the perfect, it might have many defaults but still that gives me and you our identities. And you did not forget that – I am proud of it.
You wrote in your e-mail dated February 18, 2005:
“i came across this today as i was idly sitting by when i have a hundred things to do rather than kill time. i thought you would find the story interesting.
after reading the story:
i don't draw a similarity between the protagonist and myself because unlike her i am disdainful of becoming "Americanized" for i am ferociously proud of my roots and my culture and would bash anyone who would dare accuse me of being "white-washed". yet i must admit it brings back slight memories of a childhood i've not long ago left behind.
unlike her i am ardently proud of my mother. yet i do remember the times when we lived in a cockroach infested apartment that i had wished to be a little more "Canadian". now living the middle-class life with a house and a new car and everything else commercial, i can only be grateful that i am privileged to have more depth in my character as a result of my Bangladeshi roots.
let me know what you think of the story.
cheers,
REZA”
You wrote me in the next e-mail “hey Sadique mama! have i insulted you with the jhumpa lahiri story? i don't know if you've even read it but you usually respond quite quickly.” Well I wrote you why I could not reply in good time. But I do not find any reason why and how you can insult me with the Jhumpa Lahiri’s story Hell-Heaven.
Well I promised to write you my opinion about the story. And obviously I will try to do so.
I found the story quite interesting. If we just change the names of the characters in the story with some known names, and change or omit a few places, the whole story can become our story, and as you mentioned, it will be a story of not long ago, memories of a childhood you have not long ago left behind, though that is at Another Time and Another Place. For example we can change Jhumpa with Shahreen, Pranab Chakraborty with Sadique Hasan , Shyamal Da with Faruk Bahai, Aparna Boudi with Benu Bhabi and so on. You see the similarities. It is really amazing.
Let me start from the beginning. I find the whole story as facts what can happen, had happened and will happen again in this time dimension. That is the way we Indians/Bangladeshis/Pakistanis behave. That is what happened to us too. That is the way I become your Sadique Mama (uncle Sadique) and your father become my Faruk Bhai (brother Faruk). And we consider ourselves to be of the same family. It started in Dhaka when your father got my telephone number and name from one of our common friend Tariq Ashkari. Tariq was then already in Norway . I and your father were preparing for the new journey. Being born and brought up in a society where there is almost no social welfare system exists, we always try to get acquainted with people we think will be of help. This is what still very natural in that sub-continent. As you know more the rich and powerful uncles (connections) you have more powerful you will be in Bangladesh . So that is what we learned and that is what we knew. Having all these in mind your father called me once in Dhaka , explained everything and wanted to meet me for further discussion. For me it was a golden opportunity to have someone known in an unknown place without giving any reasonable effort. So you can imagine how happy I was of meeting him on that day. We discussed about the coming journey, I do not remember particulars, and we promised to meet in Bergen . I must admit I am really lucky too of having you in my life.
When I arrived in Bergen on August 21 1983, a Sunday, it was in the evening. The reception at Fantoft Student Town was closed. So I contacted your father, the only person I knew in Bergen at that time, and asked whether I can stay with him for the night – assured him about moving out to my room on the next day. You see the connection helps. I got the right to ask your father for staying overnight and your father was obliged to help me, just because of a common friend and a few minutes talk in Dhaka . Well I do not find anything wrong in it. In the west when someone is in my position he/she would have chosen to stay in a hotel, in the name of privacy and self dependency. Well I respect privacy and self dependency but sometime you need people around you. We the Bangladeshis may go far but something in between would have been perfect for me.
As per information I received from the University of Bergen I knew that I will be staying with another student in the same flexible dormitory at Fantoft in Bergen . I was wondering who he can be, and was telling your father about my curiosity. We had a long walk on that evening from Fantoft to the University and back. So we (at least I) were tired and went to bed after the dinner a bit earlier. Surprisingly I came to know on the next day that it is your father I will be sharing my flexible dormitory at Fantoft. And that was the starting of our relation, our family life. We become a couple for one year, making food together, sharing the dormitory in all aspect, inviting guests as if they are friends to both of us even when only one knew that/those guest(s) – of course some of them includes the Bangladeshis who are our common friends and acquaintances.
Well, may be it was me who invited the most. I was and I am still now a party boy – I like to have people around me all the time. May be it was there from my birth but exposed especially after 1975 when I started at Jahangirnagar University . I got my freedom to run my own life (though not economically) for the first time. And I utilized the opportunity by trying to have a “Hippie” life in all respect well within the social boundaries of the Bangladeshi society – having long hair, wearing torn and dirty jeans, having wild parties (in Bangladeshi sense) and so on. But one thing is for sure our group was and still is kind, honest and humble. No one can blame us for doing anything wrong or hurt anyone during that period. As far I am concerned I never tried to hurt someone intentionally. Moreover despite our hippie outlook we were loved by all in the campus due to our respect to others. And we tried to take our studies seriously.
Anyway, I should admit that I should have given a bit more time to study – for a bit better result – which could have led me to have a Masteri (teaching) job in Bangladesh – and a life in Bangladesh (which I still miss). On the other hand I might not come to Bergen and come to know a beautiful lady like you. Moreover I came to know so many people here in Bergen who enriched my world of friends. I am proud of that. To name a few of them I can name Shaibal and Tapati, Ishtiaq and Christine, Sharmin (Rona) and Abu Yousuf (Valo), Quamrul Bhai , Mustafa and Parveen, Talal and Mona, Park Ki Hyun, Manik, Shaheen Ali (Lubna), Raquib, Mofakhar (Masud) and Nasrin, Tamiz and Shirin, Mizan and Tanveer, Manna, Mozaffar and Munni, Tuntu, Alam and Baby, Bazlu, Shahadat, Toufiq and Dana, Moudud Bhai, Haroon Bhai, Zahid and Sweety, Toufiq and Lasna, Shahnaz, Tayab and Bappi, Tirtha and Tania, Maruf and Shimul, Pranab and Chitra, Saifullah and Runa, Yasmeen and Ritu, Mahfuz and Ranjana, and more and more are joining in that world.
So I am happy with that I have now. I do not regret for what I did - I do not regret for what I did not get - I do not regret for what I do not have or could have been mine. I had really a happy life of being a hippie at the Jahangirnagar University .
I migrated with all my characteristics to Bergen . So parties were there. I and your Bob Mama were the initiative takers for all those parties in the weekends (almost all the weekends) here in Bergen . Most of them ended at my room after a visit to different clubs. Unlike other Bangladeshis a few of us were regular customer of different clubs, and I was one of them. It was the same picture here in Bergen as it is described in that Jhumpa Lahiri’s story. The Bangladeshis like mainly to gather together for gossip, talk about people and eat Bangladeshi food. Mostly the women used to cook while talking about saries/ornaments/shopping (past, present and future), and the men were chatting and complaining about hell and heaven. Even being resided in a country famous for its natural beauty very few Bangladeshis have travelled only a few miles to enjoy it.
In fact your father and I started a life together (almost as a couple) just after knowing each other for less than 48 hours. I consider this attitude, which is developed in us as being Bangladeshi, a gift. We can trust people and give all our love and affection to someone we love. When we give anything to our beloved one we do not try keep anything left for us. Where else can you learn this except from your roots? At least I did not find that in the west. I will not say we had no disagreements during our one year of conjugal (?) life but we did not have any disputes. Only the level of respect, honesty and tolerance for our beloved ones can keep us away from disputes, and solve the disagreements/problems with discussions. I think my relation to your father reached that level very soon. We had real fun together in our conjugal life at Fantoft. I have so many memories that I can write for decades even then those will not end. I am lucky to have a brother, a bhabi, a niece and two nephews in my journey through my life.
The next year, in 1984, you and your mother came to Norway . I and your father had to go for a separation. But anyway, I got a niece and a Bhabi (wife of a elder brother) who loved me. As being daughter of my Faruk Bhai you occupied the softest corner in my heart. And Bhabi with her love towards me got her proper position. In Bangladesh Bhabies have a very different role than what you see in the western world. A Bhabi is a mother, a sister, a guardian and a friend, all at the same time. On the other hand the brother-in-law will have the respect for his Bhabi of a mother, a sister, a friend and a guardian. And all these characters have to be there in the same person. That is just obvious in Bangladesh . That is what we demand. That is what we learned to be both the boys and the girls.
I will not say that the relation between Aparna and Pranab is impossible. It happened – it happens – and it will happen. They might be in love without giving that love a life. But it is difficult to evaluate the whole situation. The rules and structure of such emotional relations are so complex that it is almost impossible to understand, the causes of constructions and destructions of such relations, at least from outside. Only those two who initiates the act to construct or destruct such relations know the real reasons. These reasons may even look wrong or immoral in the eyes of third parties. So who can judge such a relation without being partial? We all judge according to some preconceived ideas about right and wrong taught by the society. But for judging anything we need all the information, to evaluate in the light of our preconceived ideas, which can be next to impossible to retrieve. Can we really judge an act or a person correctly without such information? Well, in many cases we try to do so – which according to me is wrong.
Anyway, I can guarantee you that it is only a few percent of the total population, and which can easily be neglected, end with a relation as Aparna and Pranab. In most of the cases, the love between Bhabi and the brother-in-law is a sort of love which is difficult to describe – it is a combination of love between mother and children, between friends, between brothers and sisters. Well the quantity of ingredients in this cocktail varies from case to case depending on the situation, depending on time and depending on place. I am not saying Jhumpa made a mistake in judging the relationship between her mother and Pranab, but there is a chance that she was confused in recognising the love of Bhabi and brother-in-law in an Indian way. It can be difficult to understand that love for someone who is/was not in it, and especially who desires to be considered as a pure western. I can assure you there are so many types of bondages of love you will find in Bangladesh which is just unthinkable in the west even in the wildest dreams. That is what India is, that is what Bangladesh is. This is what I am telling you from my own experiences, and not from a second hand information.
This sort of bondage is only possible in a society where people do not still think totally in a individualistic way as we do in the west. In Bangladesh these pluralistic thinking is again beyond some tolerable limits. It seems to me that my problem is a problem to all those I know and everyone has a different solution. I do not have the scope to think or act only on my own for solving the problem. Mostly the new problem for me is whom should I please by considering his/her solution as the correct and best one. On the other hand the problem might have been solved before giving an effort to solve it beyond my knowledge, as it was a problem to so many people. But the difficult part of this way of thinking is that I might get the responsibility of some problems which under no circumstances can be considered as my responsibility at all. Well that may be the reason why both Psychology and Law is still less demanded subject in the universities in Bangladesh – we generally need these professionals over there, at individual level, to make further problems and not to solve them.
I will tell you something, still today in 2005, I will have to solve the problems, if I am asked, for my Grand Father’s Grand Father’s another Grand Son’s Grand Son, who is, of course, my brother. I know that they will do the same for me if and when necessary. It is only possible in the east, where you can get promises to be looked after whenever you need it, from the wife of a nephew who was totally unknown to you only a few days back. In the west you will not even find the names of these relations, not even in the oldest dictionaries. May be it is only possible in Indian sub-continent, a sub-continent full of myths and mysteries, a sub-continent full of diversities. This is my Bangladesh – this is my Indian subcontinent. I will not say our system and our society is the perfect one. Of course it has many faults and limitations. But it has a lot of positive sides too. No society, no system, no human being is perfect. We should through our experiences and knowledge pick the best of it from different parts to make a better world for us and for all others. I am not sure whether we will ever be able to do so.
Well as of Pranab, I got my full right to be a member of your family. My rights included that I can come to your house whenever I felt like that. Calling your parents for permission would have been insulting them. I am not supposed to insult them in that way. The only problem I should think about is what happens if you were not at home. Then I have to come back all that way without any result. But fortunately, I could have visited others who lived nearby. So why should I call and insult someone I respect so much? While being at your place I can move freely anywhere, I mean anywhere even to the bed room of your parents, enjoy the food whatever I like. Unlike Pranab I was able to make some Bangladeshi foods for my survival, but foods made by your mother had a totally different taste. Moreover I had all the rights to order the food I would like to have from my Bhabi. Who can be such a fool not use that right in this world?
While staying at your place I do not have to think about the privacy of you or your parents. Of course privacy is a word you will not find in Bangladesh . And consequently we did not learn about it much. The only place you have some privacy in Bangladesh is in the toilet. As I remember Americans call the toilet “rest room”. I think the word came from Bangladesh because that is the only place where you can really rest in private alone in Bangladesh .
I hope you have already experienced in Bangladesh , how more than hundreds of people start coming to your bedroom even before you are out of your bed. I am talking about real Bangladesh , in the village. You should not be surprised by finding all sorts of domestic animals and lots of people staring at you while you were sleeping in your bed, and waiting for talking to you when you will wake up. That is not at all unusual. So privacy – I did not have to think about it at your place, moreover I was not a stranger. I was your Sadique Mama, Fakuk Bhai’s younger brother and Benu Bhabi’s brother-in-law. Well, I think among other factors, this lack of sense for privacy comes from the joint family system in Bangladesh where three generations live under the same roof, eat from the same kitchen. I personally do not like the joint family system, but without having any public support system we do not have an alternative.
So the days were just passing by here in Bergen having classes, having parties, having gatherings of Bangladeshi brothers, sisters, Bhabies, nieces and nephews as it should be for an immigrant society. For me and few other Bangladeshis attending the club every weekend was an extra activity along with those named before. As a result of my effort to integrate myself in this society I came to know a few native students. Most of them were girls, and consequently I happened to fall in love with one them, as Pranab did in the story. She used to love you very much, as Deborah did love Jhumpa in the story. You were also very fond of her, as Jhumpa is fond of Deborah in the story. We used to visit you very often, as Pranab and Deborah did visit Jhumpa’s family in the story.
Rest of the story of my life is known to you to some extend. We got married in 1989. You and your family played a vital role in the marriage. It was not accepted by my family to start with. Anyway, they accepted us when they came to know that Daniel is on his way to this world. Daniel was born in 1990 and Benjamin in 1995. And at last we got separated in 1999 as Pranab and Deborah did in the story.
I find another very interesting similarity between my experiences and that what is written in the story. When we love a foreigner we think that we know each others culture, we know each others society, norms and values just by reading some anthropological books and articles or just staying a few days abroad. We think, at that particular moment, that we will be able to overcome the problems that will come in a multicultural family. We think with love we will solve all the problems. In this world love is not enough – we forget that in that particular moment.
In many cases we just overestimate ourselves, we just fail to judge ourselves – fail to evaluate our capability to adjust in a different environment. This adjustment demands a totally different level of efforts, a different level of understanding people. It needs a totally different level of attitude to accept the dissimilarities in the way of thinking – it needs a different level of willingness to sacrifice, even to sacrifice some of you identity - it needs a different level of willingness to respect and recognition, recognition for other norms and values with which one is not familiar with. I do admit many people have those capabilities, but quite often we fail to evaluate our capability to adjust with someone else as a life partner having different skin colour, different language, with different religion, different culture, different norms and values, different way of looking at life, different way of expressing self. This is obviously a difficult task. And when we find it difficult we get threatened as Deborah was in the story. The more we get threatened more we close ourselves inviting more misunderstandings and problems.
I know, from my experiences, in such situation it can be difficult to convey the right message – the words can be misunderstood, the body language can be misleading. It can be difficult even with someone from your own environment – and to a foreigner you can just imagine. I do not think you have ever seen your parents kissing on their lips in your 21 years of life, because we do not do it in front of others or in public places. Do you think your parents have less love for each other, just for that? No never. I do not think Shyamal and Aparna are not in love. But that is a love you might not notice from outside as long as you are a stranger. We do not sit in the park holding each other to show the world that we are in love. We show it with a very different way. I know Jhumpa is not a stranger in her own family, but she might have misunderstood the whole situation.
As you will find it normal to introduce someone, you newly fall in love with, to your family and friends here in the west, in our sub-continent the case will be totally different. In most cases, both the boy and the girl will be shy enough to introduce to each others family. The information has to be transferred to the families through a third person, generally a friend. I hope this will show you how different the norms are in the east from those in the west. Even, quite often, a friend takes the initiative to ignite the last and final spark to activate an emotional relation. Both the boy and the girl involved, are too shy to convey the message that one is willing to be the life partner of the other. What an amazing situation – both of them are willing to join their lives together with love, but can not tell the same to each other. Anyway, I think it is really charming and romantic as if two souls in love playing hide-and-seek in the heaven of love recognizing the fact "Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself. Love possesses not nor would it be possessed; For love is sufficient unto love. (taken from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran)". As if they are recognising "Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself", as Kahlil Gibran described it in his book The Prophet.
To understand this love, in a sub-continental way, one must have to be in a different level of psychological state of mind. I do not think my parents in their 50 years of conjugal life ever, and I mean ever, uttered the words “Ami Tomake Bhalobashi” or in our dialect “Mui tok Bhalobashon” which means I love you. But I am sure they are in love. For us it is not the words but the acts, not the exposures but the expression of feelings, expression of caring matters most. We nourish our love to our life partner in such a different way than the westerns do. Of course there are similarities but dissimilarities are much more. And coping with all these is really a difficult task. And we failed to do so. I failed to judge myself, I failed to calculate the equation of love, the equation of life. I must admit, I miscalculated both in the domestic and international arena of life. Otherwise why should I be alone today after having so many relations in my life? But may be this is part of life in a wider perspective.
But I do not regret for anything. I learned more and more from all these experiences. May be I can judge myself better in the next. I do not regret because it was true at that time when I decided to go for it. It did not work but I do not agree that it was a mistake. According to me at that particular time and at that particular place the decisions were correct. As a result of one of those decisions I have some fruits for which I am proud of, those are worth living in this world, they give me meaning in life.
Never regret for your own decision as long as it is honest. If you fail accept the failure, learn from the experiences both your own and others’, and move on. Do not stop and stand still. Just move on. This world is for those who can move forward. Even your best friends will not stop for you forever. They might stretch a hand to hold towards you, and ask you to move with them. They might try to help as much as they can. If you fail to move forward with them they will leave you. That is the law of this universe. Everything is moving. If I would have stopped in the way of my life for all these tragedies or failures, as many people will name it, I would have been destroyed long long long ago.
Dear Shahreen Ammu, you asked me for my opinion about the story “Hell-Heaven” by Jhumpa Lahiri, and got another story. I am not sure whether I managed to give you my thoughts about the story. I am not sure whether I am capable of judging the characters in the story. But I tried to give you some information. Now you try to find out what is right and what is wrong. Try to avoid the wrongs and implement the rights in your life. The story is just a part of our migrated life. Get the best of it.
You don't have to draw a similarity between the protagonist and yourself, you do not have to be "Americanized", just be yourself. Remember the roots, be proud of it, have confidence in yourself, be honest, kind and humble, be yourself, you will be happy and you will survive. This world is only for the survivors. Remember that – and be strong for the struggle and never give up – never, never, never. Fight for equality – fight for love – fight for freedom - fight for peace. You have to win in this war of life.
My love to you - You will be with me in my heart for ever. Be happy in life.
Sadique Mama
