Yes Anette, I will write again. I was thinking of writing some more stories of another time in my life for a long. And it has been nine years since I wrote my first story for Bangladeshi Students’ Union , Bergen (BSU) magazine “Another Time Another Place”. I was just thinking and thinking of starting a new chapter. But even staying in Europe for more than twenty years I could not change the characteristic of a lazy Bangalee. So it took nine years and an e-mail from Anette to start again.
Anette is mother of Benjamin’s friend Sebastian. She went through my newly developed web site and mailed me back writing:
”Hei.
Tusen takk for titten. Det var kjekt å se bildene og lese historien din. Du må bare skrive mer historie. Jeg synes det var bra. Måtte lese alt. Virker som du har opplevd en del.
Klem fra Anette.”
Translating the e-mail into English it will be:
“Hei.
Thousand thanks for showing (the site). It was nice to see the photos and read your history. You must just write more history. I think it is good. Seems like that you have experienced a lot.
Hug from Anette”.
Yes, Anette with your e-mail you have inspired me. And I hope I can once again write about some pieces of time from my life. I can tell you for sure that I have experienced a lot in my life. I can write about so many things. And I will write.
Time flies and it took me nine years forward in my life when I am starting writing this story on December 17 2004. It is dark outside and raining. Rain is a common factor in Bergen . It rains almost everyday, 300 days a year. Autumn and winter are the worst part of the year. Last few days were stormy. Sometimes this type of weather makes one home sick – I would rather say "dry, warm and sunlight sick". Sitting alone in my apartment and getting such an inspiration from a well wisher made me think about writing again. But the problem once again is, as it was in the last time, what to write and where to start. So many years have passed away – so many things have happened in my life - so many ups and downs. May be that is life – full of joys, full of sorrows, full of excitements and sometimes boring. All together is life and that is what all of us are experiencing – experiencing our journey through the time of our life. And this journey will never end - someone will get down at different stations – others will join from different stations in this journey of life. It is a never ending journey, it will never end.
Well this dry, warm and sunlight sickness took me back to a place dry, warm and full of sunshine (at least most of the time). Obviously that is Bangladesh . I remember the days in early sixties, when I was young, running through the fields in my village with my friends and relatives - with the people who are my own. Yes, I remember those old days. The days from my village, in the district named Rangpur, in northern part of Bangladesh . My parents are still living there. I have two sisters, Sweety and Fancy, both of them live in the same area. Both the sisters are married. I am the oldest son. Sweety, married to Hamid, has three sons: Jewel, Shohel and Rassel. Fancy, married to Nazmul, has one son and one daughter: Fuad and Ninta. I have two sons, Daniel and Benjamin. I had one sister, Beauty, who died at very young age, and a brother too named Zinnah. He died of cancer in 1993 - he was only 23 years old.
My parents were farmers. My father is 77 years old now and mother is 67. They are quite old in Bangladeshi context. So they can not work in the fields anymore. My parents love me very much, I love them too. My father is very religious. But he never pressed me to practice religion and I am thankful to him for that. I am thankful to him for respecting my wishes. In my opinion, practicing religion is very private matter and no one should interfere in that decision. One can believe whatever one wants to and practice religion the way one wants to - it should be strictly ones personal decision. I respect all religions, as a result I respect ones decision of practising religion too. I wish all of us could have thought in this way, and hope we will do that some day. Just think how peaceful this world could have been without the fanatics who use the religion for achieving personal and political goals. How can I forget, using religion as an excuse, the Pakistani government killed 3 million Bangalee in 1971, raped thousands of women, tortured millions, and all these in the name of religion? What a shame to religion. I have seen that war against the Pakistani occupation army – I have experienced the fear of the occupational forces – I was detained by the Pakistani army self. How can I forget those horrifying days – horrification in the name of religion? No one can forget, no one should forget.
In my opinion fanatic religious leaders are one of the major factors for our underdevelopment. I feel sick when someone tells me to pray to Allah/God/Bhagaban (the same whatever you call) for the happiness of the next life (after death), and not to think about the present life or happiness in the present life. What an unproductive preach. I would rather say think of the happiness in the present for you and all other in this world – think of the future of the children who are the finest and most precious gifts from Allah/God/Bhagaban, who came through us in this world. Taking care of the children should have been part of our prayer because in that way we are taking care of the gifts from Allah/God/Bhagaban, and that should be taking care of the wishes of Allah/God/Bhagaban. As we all are created by Allah/God/Bhagaban, taking care of each other should have been also part of our prayer. We should gain sufficient points for entering the heaven for these acts. Don’t you think so? Anyway, please don’t misunderstand me – I am not a non-believer. I do believe in religion – and in Islam – in my own way. I am not trying to write about religion – neither do I have much knowledge to write about religion. Here I have planned to write the memories of my life only.
Yes, I was dreaming today, December 17 2004, about those old days in my home town and my village. It rains there too. It is warm in the summer and it is cold in the winter. But it is different. Bangladesh has a tropical monsoon-type climate, with a hot and rainy summer and a pronounced dry season in the cooler months. January is the coolest month of the year, with temperatures averaging near 26 degree centigrade (78 degree Fahrenheit), and April the warmest month, with temperatures ranging between 33 degree and 36 degree centigrade (91 degree Fahrenheit and 96 degree Fahrenheit). The climate is one of the wettest in the world; most places receive more than 1.525 mm (60 inches) of rain a year, and areas near the hills receive 5.080 mm (200 inches). Most rain falls during the monsoon (June-September) and little during the dry season (November-February).
But that was quite different. It was, and I think still it is, fun to play in the mud when it rained – it was fun to have a shower in the rainy water. The storms in the month of Baishakh (the first month of Bengali year, starts on 14. April) “Kal Baishakhi” were scary and destroying, but we always dreamed about the end of the storm when we would be able to collect the green mangoes felt from the trees due to the storm.
Bangladesh is one of the most flood-prone countries in the world. Essentially, it's the flood plain where two huge rivers--the Ganges and the Brahmaputra--carry spring snowmelt from the towering Himalayan Mountains to the sea. When the rivers flood, so does Bangladesh . Every year flood washes away hundreds of human lives, crops from acres and acres of cultivated land, so many animals, so many houses, so many dreams – whatever comes across on its way to the sea is washed away. Bangladeshies have to struggle all the time against these natural catastrophes. This is what life is in Bangladesh . We are fighting against natural catastrophes – fighting against poverty - fighting against illiteracy – fighting against epidemic diseases – and so on. In fact it is a fight for the survival – if you lose you are gone. Yes, that is what life is in Bangladesh .
Once my friend Shafiq told me “Why should I leave Bangladesh? It is so thrilling and exiting here. Something or other is happening all the time. You don’t have these thrills (challenges) in the West. I will miss these there”. That is true we learned to face the challenges from our birth – we learned to face the challenges to live from the Bangladeshi environment. We have learned to hope even in the stormy nights of “Kal Baishakhi”. I think that is life – to face the storm and move forward – because time will never wait for you – you just have to move with it. At same time you must remember that the show must go on – so don’t stop, don’t stand still – just move on. Move, Move and Move. Don’t stand still because no one will wait for you in this journey of life, not even your best friends. Your friends (if they are real friends) will give you a helping hand if you need it. But it is you who should hold it and move forward - no one can pull you all the time. No one has sufficient time to do so.
Back to my dream again - dream about the time when the neighbourhood is flooded with water. In the time of flood boat becomes the only media of transportation in many places. We used to make boats with banana plants and sailed in the flood water – sailed to collect Shapla flowers (water lily), and ate water lily fruits. That was so thrilling – now I can understand why sometimes we get loose motions. That must be from the bacteria we consumed with the water lily fruits.
I am not underestimating the miseries of the people in the rain and flood. I do know thousands of people dies in these natural disasters each year in Bangladesh , thousands of homes washes away in the flood. But I remember those days when we tried to get the best out of these miseries. I think that should be life. We should try to eliminate the miseries of life, whatever it is, but also we should have strength to accept the one we can’t stop – we should have the courage to accept the challenge of life. The life must go on – we just can’t stop the time – we can’t go back – we can’t stop life. We should not avoid problems – we should face it. Time flies – and we are flying with time.
I remember the winter, it is so beautiful – full of festivals – full of Bangladeshi cakes. I remember my country celebrating so many joyous festivals - Islamic festivals like two Eids, Eid-ul-Fitr, and Eid-ul-Azha, the month of Ramadan, Shab-e-Qadr, Shab-e-Barat etc.; Hindu festivals like Durga Puja, Kali Puja and Janmastami; the Buddhist festivals like Buddho Purnima and the Christian festivals like Christmas. These are just a few of the religious festivals and feasts that Bangladeshis celebrate in their day to day life. Beside these we celebrate Bengali new year day (April 14), Independence Day, Victory Day, and the historic Language Martyr's Day; social customs like birth, naming ceremony, marriage, and death too have a distinct Bangladeshi flavour with each ethnic and religious group having their own unique way to mark these traditions. I remember a country full of festivals.
The best part of it is that the festivals are open to all without having any religious boundary. This is how I remember my Bangladesh . I remember, in those days, we invited the hindu neighbours to our religious festivals and we were invited in their religious festivals. Even we performed many traditional cultural activities which according to some people belong to the hindu culture, for example the Goalies singing for the well-being of the domestic animals, the Bauls singing for our enteretainment. For me these are Bangalee culture – and it will be Bangalee culture for ever. But alas! The days have changed a bit – religious fanaticism has increased with the help of so called political leaders. Now a day one can feel the tension among various religious groups. I wish it stops soon – still we have time to stop it – we should fight to stop the trend so that all the Bangalees can live in peace together in our country, Bangladesh . This is our country – a country for the Bangalees, and never for any religious group. We should not forget what happened in 1971 – the flood of blood, the genocides, the rapes, the tortures – all these in the name of holy religion. Oh! What a misuse. We should not forget those who fought for our motherland, those who sacrificed their lives for the independence of Bangladesh . Bring back that spirit, and I am sure it will give the desired peace and harmony, and economic development as well.
Well, I had a real nice and happy childhood. As my mother became sick immediate after my birth my maternal grand father (Nana), maternal grand mother (Nani) and my maternal uncle (Mama) brought me up. I got so much love from them that I used to say in my childhood that I have two fathers “Abba”, my father; and “Montu Mama”, my uncle, and I have two mothers one in the village my mother and one in the town, my maternal grand mother. Having love from two fathers and two mothers I was one of the happiest boys in this world. Sometimes I feel my Mama gave me much much more love than my father, even when I recognise that a father is a father. I never missed the love of my parents even not being with them – I got it both from them, and from my Nana, Nani and Mama. My Mama by no means gave me anything less than my father. He will be there in my heart having the respect as a father for the rest of my life. He is the man I dream to be. I will not forget the sacrifice my aunt (Mamani) did for me by allowing me to stay with her family. As being in Norway I understand now what privacy is - I understand that everyone needs some time just for oneself - only with ones own family members. This was obviously not possible for my Mamani. As a result of joint family system in Bangladesh my Mamani has to sacrifice the dream of a romantic life only with her husband around her in the beginning of her conjugal life – as most other women do in Bangladesh . I find it now as one the greatest sacrifice from her side.
Without having any proper welfare system and lack of public support for the citizens who need help, it becomes the responsibility of the eldest son to take care of the whole family both physically and economically. As long as there is no other alternative available I do agree to some extent about the necessity for joint family system, but only economically. If I can provide help to my parents or other family members it should be my responsibility to help them. I do not see it as helping them rather I look at this as paying back what they did for me, and that should be an obligation well within my capability. But having a whole bunch of people around me for 24 hours a day and 365 days a year can be sometimes too much.
The reason I think so is my yearning for freedom. We all need freedom – freedom to live our lives in our own way. I like to have freedom to discover Life per se with my choice of lifestyle. The problem arises, when there is interference of family members and uninvited opinion as to how one should live or react in situations. I personally believe that there comes a time when parents have to really "let the children go" and let them face realities of life and make decisions for themselves.
In a joint family it is generally the man stays with his parents, and brothers and sisters after getting grown up. By getting married he brings a woman in a house with many other family members, each having their own habits and expectations. It takes a lot for the new comer to adjust and accommodate within the new family. For a grown up individual, it is difficult to adjust not only with the person you marry but also the in-law family. In most of the cases the person, and it is a woman, who joins the family is expected to do all the adjustments with very little consideration from the other side for her personality, upbringing and basic character. It is always her duty to adjust to the whims and fancies of the family she joins under all odds. Even only in this way she can prove her worth well as a good wife.
In my opinion it would be easier for the girl to accept the in-law family if and only if the in-law family accepts her as she is without trying to change her characteristics. This reciprocal respect for each other would have smoothened the tension between the new comer and the in-law family quite a lot. We should be compassionate and understanding, and we should accept the person as is in all kind of relationship. That is a pillar of a successful family life and even friendship. But alas! Do we still really think in this way and how long will it take to think in this way?
Anyway, I will not say the days were just full of joys, and free from problems or sorrows. But as I mentioned earlier all these together make the life. I lost my Nana in 1967. I lost my first teacher in my life – the teacher who is not substitutable - the teacher who gave me the lessons to face the life – the teacher who taught me that time never comes back. I can understand now how big the loss was for me. Being Nana alive a few years more I might not have come to Dhaka after finishing the school, Rangpur Zilla School . My career could have been totally different. I might have been at another place, and not in Norway .
Time passed away. 1971 is the year of independence – independence of Bangladesh from Pakistan - after a war against the Pakistani occupational forces from March 26 (Independence Day of Bangladesh) to December 16 (Victory Day of Bangladesh). I will never forget the horror of these days – the days of the war for freedom, the war for independence. It was a war against occupation - war against suppression. It was a war to have the freedom to practice Bangali culture and traditions, to talk in my own mother language, Bangla. It was a war for democracy and human right. It was a war for freedom of speech. The war is still there - we are far away from achieving the goal - just the warfield is different and the form of the war is different. I am an oppurtunist who left Bangladesh without helping her, my motherland - thinking of my own happiness only. But I will request those "Muktijoddhas" (freedom fighters) who fought for the independence of Bangladesh, please invite the new generation in this war, and I am sure we will win someday.
I finished my last school examination in 1972 (the exam was supposed to be in 1971, but postponed due to the war) and moved to Dhaka for attending Dhaka College . There starts another time in my life – a time full of struggle.
The life of Dhaka College from 1973 to 1974 was not really a nice one. It was full of struggle – struggle for accepting the new reality. I spent lots of time in unproductive activities (not unlawful activities). I was in the end of the teens, trying to become a man. I was trying for the freedom of life which was not achievable. I was revolting against my fate, but without any result. Anyway, these two years just passed in a total unrest, and at least I survived. May be it is only because I am a survivor. I don’t have many (good) memories from that particular time which I can share with you. So I will just jump over to the new life at the Jahangirnagar University – the new time which starts from January 13 1975. And that is where it starts “Another Time Another Place” in my life.
Anette is mother of Benjamin’s friend Sebastian. She went through my newly developed web site and mailed me back writing:
”Hei.
Tusen takk for titten. Det var kjekt å se bildene og lese historien din. Du må bare skrive mer historie. Jeg synes det var bra. Måtte lese alt. Virker som du har opplevd en del.
Klem fra Anette.”
Translating the e-mail into English it will be:
“Hei.
Thousand thanks for showing (the site). It was nice to see the photos and read your history. You must just write more history. I think it is good. Seems like that you have experienced a lot.
Hug from Anette”.
Yes, Anette with your e-mail you have inspired me. And I hope I can once again write about some pieces of time from my life. I can tell you for sure that I have experienced a lot in my life. I can write about so many things. And I will write.
Time flies and it took me nine years forward in my life when I am starting writing this story on December 17 2004. It is dark outside and raining. Rain is a common factor in Bergen . It rains almost everyday, 300 days a year. Autumn and winter are the worst part of the year. Last few days were stormy. Sometimes this type of weather makes one home sick – I would rather say "dry, warm and sunlight sick". Sitting alone in my apartment and getting such an inspiration from a well wisher made me think about writing again. But the problem once again is, as it was in the last time, what to write and where to start. So many years have passed away – so many things have happened in my life - so many ups and downs. May be that is life – full of joys, full of sorrows, full of excitements and sometimes boring. All together is life and that is what all of us are experiencing – experiencing our journey through the time of our life. And this journey will never end - someone will get down at different stations – others will join from different stations in this journey of life. It is a never ending journey, it will never end.
Well this dry, warm and sunlight sickness took me back to a place dry, warm and full of sunshine (at least most of the time). Obviously that is Bangladesh . I remember the days in early sixties, when I was young, running through the fields in my village with my friends and relatives - with the people who are my own. Yes, I remember those old days. The days from my village, in the district named Rangpur, in northern part of Bangladesh . My parents are still living there. I have two sisters, Sweety and Fancy, both of them live in the same area. Both the sisters are married. I am the oldest son. Sweety, married to Hamid, has three sons: Jewel, Shohel and Rassel. Fancy, married to Nazmul, has one son and one daughter: Fuad and Ninta. I have two sons, Daniel and Benjamin. I had one sister, Beauty, who died at very young age, and a brother too named Zinnah. He died of cancer in 1993 - he was only 23 years old.
My parents were farmers. My father is 77 years old now and mother is 67. They are quite old in Bangladeshi context. So they can not work in the fields anymore. My parents love me very much, I love them too. My father is very religious. But he never pressed me to practice religion and I am thankful to him for that. I am thankful to him for respecting my wishes. In my opinion, practicing religion is very private matter and no one should interfere in that decision. One can believe whatever one wants to and practice religion the way one wants to - it should be strictly ones personal decision. I respect all religions, as a result I respect ones decision of practising religion too. I wish all of us could have thought in this way, and hope we will do that some day. Just think how peaceful this world could have been without the fanatics who use the religion for achieving personal and political goals. How can I forget, using religion as an excuse, the Pakistani government killed 3 million Bangalee in 1971, raped thousands of women, tortured millions, and all these in the name of religion? What a shame to religion. I have seen that war against the Pakistani occupation army – I have experienced the fear of the occupational forces – I was detained by the Pakistani army self. How can I forget those horrifying days – horrification in the name of religion? No one can forget, no one should forget.
In my opinion fanatic religious leaders are one of the major factors for our underdevelopment. I feel sick when someone tells me to pray to Allah/God/Bhagaban (the same whatever you call) for the happiness of the next life (after death), and not to think about the present life or happiness in the present life. What an unproductive preach. I would rather say think of the happiness in the present for you and all other in this world – think of the future of the children who are the finest and most precious gifts from Allah/God/Bhagaban, who came through us in this world. Taking care of the children should have been part of our prayer because in that way we are taking care of the gifts from Allah/God/Bhagaban, and that should be taking care of the wishes of Allah/God/Bhagaban. As we all are created by Allah/God/Bhagaban, taking care of each other should have been also part of our prayer. We should gain sufficient points for entering the heaven for these acts. Don’t you think so? Anyway, please don’t misunderstand me – I am not a non-believer. I do believe in religion – and in Islam – in my own way. I am not trying to write about religion – neither do I have much knowledge to write about religion. Here I have planned to write the memories of my life only.
Yes, I was dreaming today, December 17 2004, about those old days in my home town and my village. It rains there too. It is warm in the summer and it is cold in the winter. But it is different. Bangladesh has a tropical monsoon-type climate, with a hot and rainy summer and a pronounced dry season in the cooler months. January is the coolest month of the year, with temperatures averaging near 26 degree centigrade (78 degree Fahrenheit), and April the warmest month, with temperatures ranging between 33 degree and 36 degree centigrade (91 degree Fahrenheit and 96 degree Fahrenheit). The climate is one of the wettest in the world; most places receive more than 1.525 mm (60 inches) of rain a year, and areas near the hills receive 5.080 mm (200 inches). Most rain falls during the monsoon (June-September) and little during the dry season (November-February).
But that was quite different. It was, and I think still it is, fun to play in the mud when it rained – it was fun to have a shower in the rainy water. The storms in the month of Baishakh (the first month of Bengali year, starts on 14. April) “Kal Baishakhi” were scary and destroying, but we always dreamed about the end of the storm when we would be able to collect the green mangoes felt from the trees due to the storm.
Bangladesh is one of the most flood-prone countries in the world. Essentially, it's the flood plain where two huge rivers--the Ganges and the Brahmaputra--carry spring snowmelt from the towering Himalayan Mountains to the sea. When the rivers flood, so does Bangladesh . Every year flood washes away hundreds of human lives, crops from acres and acres of cultivated land, so many animals, so many houses, so many dreams – whatever comes across on its way to the sea is washed away. Bangladeshies have to struggle all the time against these natural catastrophes. This is what life is in Bangladesh . We are fighting against natural catastrophes – fighting against poverty - fighting against illiteracy – fighting against epidemic diseases – and so on. In fact it is a fight for the survival – if you lose you are gone. Yes, that is what life is in Bangladesh .
Once my friend Shafiq told me “Why should I leave Bangladesh? It is so thrilling and exiting here. Something or other is happening all the time. You don’t have these thrills (challenges) in the West. I will miss these there”. That is true we learned to face the challenges from our birth – we learned to face the challenges to live from the Bangladeshi environment. We have learned to hope even in the stormy nights of “Kal Baishakhi”. I think that is life – to face the storm and move forward – because time will never wait for you – you just have to move with it. At same time you must remember that the show must go on – so don’t stop, don’t stand still – just move on. Move, Move and Move. Don’t stand still because no one will wait for you in this journey of life, not even your best friends. Your friends (if they are real friends) will give you a helping hand if you need it. But it is you who should hold it and move forward - no one can pull you all the time. No one has sufficient time to do so.
Back to my dream again - dream about the time when the neighbourhood is flooded with water. In the time of flood boat becomes the only media of transportation in many places. We used to make boats with banana plants and sailed in the flood water – sailed to collect Shapla flowers (water lily), and ate water lily fruits. That was so thrilling – now I can understand why sometimes we get loose motions. That must be from the bacteria we consumed with the water lily fruits.
I am not underestimating the miseries of the people in the rain and flood. I do know thousands of people dies in these natural disasters each year in Bangladesh , thousands of homes washes away in the flood. But I remember those days when we tried to get the best out of these miseries. I think that should be life. We should try to eliminate the miseries of life, whatever it is, but also we should have strength to accept the one we can’t stop – we should have the courage to accept the challenge of life. The life must go on – we just can’t stop the time – we can’t go back – we can’t stop life. We should not avoid problems – we should face it. Time flies – and we are flying with time.
I remember the winter, it is so beautiful – full of festivals – full of Bangladeshi cakes. I remember my country celebrating so many joyous festivals - Islamic festivals like two Eids, Eid-ul-Fitr, and Eid-ul-Azha, the month of Ramadan, Shab-e-Qadr, Shab-e-Barat etc.; Hindu festivals like Durga Puja, Kali Puja and Janmastami; the Buddhist festivals like Buddho Purnima and the Christian festivals like Christmas. These are just a few of the religious festivals and feasts that Bangladeshis celebrate in their day to day life. Beside these we celebrate Bengali new year day (April 14), Independence Day, Victory Day, and the historic Language Martyr's Day; social customs like birth, naming ceremony, marriage, and death too have a distinct Bangladeshi flavour with each ethnic and religious group having their own unique way to mark these traditions. I remember a country full of festivals.
The best part of it is that the festivals are open to all without having any religious boundary. This is how I remember my Bangladesh . I remember, in those days, we invited the hindu neighbours to our religious festivals and we were invited in their religious festivals. Even we performed many traditional cultural activities which according to some people belong to the hindu culture, for example the Goalies singing for the well-being of the domestic animals, the Bauls singing for our enteretainment. For me these are Bangalee culture – and it will be Bangalee culture for ever. But alas! The days have changed a bit – religious fanaticism has increased with the help of so called political leaders. Now a day one can feel the tension among various religious groups. I wish it stops soon – still we have time to stop it – we should fight to stop the trend so that all the Bangalees can live in peace together in our country, Bangladesh . This is our country – a country for the Bangalees, and never for any religious group. We should not forget what happened in 1971 – the flood of blood, the genocides, the rapes, the tortures – all these in the name of holy religion. Oh! What a misuse. We should not forget those who fought for our motherland, those who sacrificed their lives for the independence of Bangladesh . Bring back that spirit, and I am sure it will give the desired peace and harmony, and economic development as well.
Well, I had a real nice and happy childhood. As my mother became sick immediate after my birth my maternal grand father (Nana), maternal grand mother (Nani) and my maternal uncle (Mama) brought me up. I got so much love from them that I used to say in my childhood that I have two fathers “Abba”, my father; and “Montu Mama”, my uncle, and I have two mothers one in the village my mother and one in the town, my maternal grand mother. Having love from two fathers and two mothers I was one of the happiest boys in this world. Sometimes I feel my Mama gave me much much more love than my father, even when I recognise that a father is a father. I never missed the love of my parents even not being with them – I got it both from them, and from my Nana, Nani and Mama. My Mama by no means gave me anything less than my father. He will be there in my heart having the respect as a father for the rest of my life. He is the man I dream to be. I will not forget the sacrifice my aunt (Mamani) did for me by allowing me to stay with her family. As being in Norway I understand now what privacy is - I understand that everyone needs some time just for oneself - only with ones own family members. This was obviously not possible for my Mamani. As a result of joint family system in Bangladesh my Mamani has to sacrifice the dream of a romantic life only with her husband around her in the beginning of her conjugal life – as most other women do in Bangladesh . I find it now as one the greatest sacrifice from her side.
Without having any proper welfare system and lack of public support for the citizens who need help, it becomes the responsibility of the eldest son to take care of the whole family both physically and economically. As long as there is no other alternative available I do agree to some extent about the necessity for joint family system, but only economically. If I can provide help to my parents or other family members it should be my responsibility to help them. I do not see it as helping them rather I look at this as paying back what they did for me, and that should be an obligation well within my capability. But having a whole bunch of people around me for 24 hours a day and 365 days a year can be sometimes too much.
The reason I think so is my yearning for freedom. We all need freedom – freedom to live our lives in our own way. I like to have freedom to discover Life per se with my choice of lifestyle. The problem arises, when there is interference of family members and uninvited opinion as to how one should live or react in situations. I personally believe that there comes a time when parents have to really "let the children go" and let them face realities of life and make decisions for themselves.
In a joint family it is generally the man stays with his parents, and brothers and sisters after getting grown up. By getting married he brings a woman in a house with many other family members, each having their own habits and expectations. It takes a lot for the new comer to adjust and accommodate within the new family. For a grown up individual, it is difficult to adjust not only with the person you marry but also the in-law family. In most of the cases the person, and it is a woman, who joins the family is expected to do all the adjustments with very little consideration from the other side for her personality, upbringing and basic character. It is always her duty to adjust to the whims and fancies of the family she joins under all odds. Even only in this way she can prove her worth well as a good wife.
In my opinion it would be easier for the girl to accept the in-law family if and only if the in-law family accepts her as she is without trying to change her characteristics. This reciprocal respect for each other would have smoothened the tension between the new comer and the in-law family quite a lot. We should be compassionate and understanding, and we should accept the person as is in all kind of relationship. That is a pillar of a successful family life and even friendship. But alas! Do we still really think in this way and how long will it take to think in this way?
Anyway, I will not say the days were just full of joys, and free from problems or sorrows. But as I mentioned earlier all these together make the life. I lost my Nana in 1967. I lost my first teacher in my life – the teacher who is not substitutable - the teacher who gave me the lessons to face the life – the teacher who taught me that time never comes back. I can understand now how big the loss was for me. Being Nana alive a few years more I might not have come to Dhaka after finishing the school, Rangpur Zilla School . My career could have been totally different. I might have been at another place, and not in Norway .
Time passed away. 1971 is the year of independence – independence of Bangladesh from Pakistan - after a war against the Pakistani occupational forces from March 26 (Independence Day of Bangladesh) to December 16 (Victory Day of Bangladesh). I will never forget the horror of these days – the days of the war for freedom, the war for independence. It was a war against occupation - war against suppression. It was a war to have the freedom to practice Bangali culture and traditions, to talk in my own mother language, Bangla. It was a war for democracy and human right. It was a war for freedom of speech. The war is still there - we are far away from achieving the goal - just the warfield is different and the form of the war is different. I am an oppurtunist who left Bangladesh without helping her, my motherland - thinking of my own happiness only. But I will request those "Muktijoddhas" (freedom fighters) who fought for the independence of Bangladesh, please invite the new generation in this war, and I am sure we will win someday.
I finished my last school examination in 1972 (the exam was supposed to be in 1971, but postponed due to the war) and moved to Dhaka for attending Dhaka College . There starts another time in my life – a time full of struggle.
The life of Dhaka College from 1973 to 1974 was not really a nice one. It was full of struggle – struggle for accepting the new reality. I spent lots of time in unproductive activities (not unlawful activities). I was in the end of the teens, trying to become a man. I was trying for the freedom of life which was not achievable. I was revolting against my fate, but without any result. Anyway, these two years just passed in a total unrest, and at least I survived. May be it is only because I am a survivor. I don’t have many (good) memories from that particular time which I can share with you. So I will just jump over to the new life at the Jahangirnagar University – the new time which starts from January 13 1975. And that is where it starts “Another Time Another Place” in my life.
