Mizan Rahman
It’s final.
Tuli’s marriage has been all arranged. The boy is the son of the older
brother-in-law of the youngest sister-in-law of her aunt in Bradford. Good boy.
Good pedigree. Owns a lot of property. Family is widely known over the entire
region. Even the District Magistrate bows in respect to his father, who went to
the holy pilgrimage, not once but twice. They built a mosque on the premises of
the family home, that has a cemented floor and corrugated tin roof and walls.
You won’t have a better family as your in-laws’ place----you will have to be
born with the luck of a princess to get to marry a son there.
Everyone in
the family has been notified-----wherever in the world one may be. The eldest
maternal uncle in Detroit has sent his blessings. Her uncle Sultan in Los Angeles
said: congratulations. Great news. Uncle Qurban has sent word from Montreal thanking Allah for her good fortune.
All the elders back home in Bangladesh have sent their blessings and warm
wishes. Tuli’s father is happy, as is her mother. Everybody knows about Tuli’s
marriage.
Except Tuli
herself!
Her parents
made a calculated decision that the news need not be given to Tuli just yet. Her
exams are near. It’s the final exam in her 11th grade. Poor girl is
keeping late at night to prepare for it. Let her. It will only disrupt her mind
if you raise the issue at this time. After all, she isn’t quite adult
yet-----will be seventeen in two months. Still now she behaves like a child
sometimes. Fights with her younger brothers. Sulks over birthday presents that
didn’t meet her expectations. Can’t go to sleep without her teddy bear in her
hands. Her mother tried a few times to take it away after she closed her eyes.
But she would immediately wake up and ask for her teddy. So you see how
difficult it would be to give her the news of her marriage right now.
Unfortunately
she was far from an underage child-like girl in her physical size. On the
contrary. Quite a stout full-grown young lady, as a matter of fact. Both in
height and width. Puffy cheeks and overgrown breasts. No one will say she is
only 16! Looks more like a 20 or 21- yr old. In body size, at least, she has taken
after her mother’s side. Apparently her maternal grandmother was quite a robust
lady also, towering over her grandfather by about a foot. In breadth as well.
It was more out of concern for her unusual size that her parents were so
anxious to find a suitable boy as soon as possible. Or else, they feared, no
one might come forward to take her as a bride. One can’t ignore the reality
that not too many eligible young Muslim men are here in this foreign land who
would want to marry this not-too-attractive daughter of theirs.
Tuli. Quite
a pretty name. Not her official name, though. Her official, or real name is
Shaukat Ara Khatun. The nickname ‘Tuli’ was chosen by her youngest aunt (on the
father’s side), who had once been a college student. One can surmise that the
choice of Tuli had a college flavor. The aunt had a secret hobby----to paint
portraits and landscapes with paint and brush. Behind the curtain, of course,
where nobody is looking. In that house it was forbidden to draw any picture, or
to sing, or listen to any radio or gramophone music----an ultraconservative Muslim family. So she would wait till
everybody went to bed to light her dim kerosene lamp and her paint-and-brush
kit, to start doing the stuff she loved so much. In the morning, before
day-break, she would try to hide her work in a wooden chest. When Tuli was born
she pleaded with her brother to let her choose a name for her new-born niece.
Her choice of ‘Tuli’ was unacceptable to everyone in the family-----her parents
and grandparents alike. Because it had a ‘Hindu’ sound. It wasn’t Islamic. But
Tuli’s father had a very soft corner for his little sister since she was a baby-----always
protecting her from their parents’ wrath and punishment. He was well aware of
his sister’s weakness for a little painting, but shielded it from others as a
shared secret between the little sister and a much older brother. He pleaded on
her behalf to withhold her marriage till she got into an art college----but to
no avail. His pleading and her loud protestations didn’t do any good----the
inevitable couldn’t be stopped. In those days girls from respectable Muslim
families wouldn’t think of going to an art school. That was absolutely out of
question. All the loving brother could do is to give her a lot of gold jewelry
at the wedding. It was just about the time of Independence. He didn’t actively
participate in the war, but he had implicit sympathy for the freedom
fighters----even though the family was leaning on the side of Pakistan.
This is the
same man, Tuli’s father, who is anything but the same liberal man he was
before. Yet he didn’t object much to the suggestion of his little sister-----a
Hindu-sounding name, notwithstanding. Nicknames really didn’t matter, right?
Real names are the only real thing.
Tuli likes
her name a lot. It is easy. It is simple. And it is sad. It has the tears of
her aunt, her broken dreams. The name is modern. Her nickname is about the only
‘modern’ thing in her life. She can’t play volleyball or basketball in school
grounds like her friends do, can’t go to the movies on weekends with her
friends like the other girls do, can’t even listen to the pop music like the
others of her age do. These are strictly forbidden stuff for her. Her father
doesn’t even like her picture in the school yearbook. She started wearing the
baggy shalwar-kamij and hijab since she was ten. Her friends in school
would make fun of her. They would ask, mockingly: did you lose your hair, Tuli?
She hates the thing. Especially in the heat of summer. But she had no
choice----no hijab, no school. They threatened to send her ‘home’ (meaning
Bangladesh, of course) if she continued to balk at wearing the hijab. So she
continues wearing the stuff she hates. The only thing she hates more is being
sent back ‘home’, which for her would be an exile.
Tuli is not
a very good-looking girl. She is dark-skinned. She is bulky if not fat.
She is big. But none of these mattered
to the groom’s parents. They didn’t come with the marriage proposal because of
her looks, but in spite of her looks. Her passport was far more important than
what she looked like. The passport had the seal of the United States of
America, and that is all that mattered. She can board a plane in New York and
fly to Bangladesh anytime she wants, and come back to New York anytime she
pleases. Her real face is her passport-----her most important quality. No other
quality is needed for marriage with that precious son of the older
brother-in-law of the youngest sister-in-law of her aunt at Bradford, because
this would mean freedom for him too to fly to New York whenever he pleases, and
fly back whenever he wants. Tuli’s passport would mean his passport.
Girls like Tuli didn’t need any other qualities----they are born as suitable
girls. Rumor has it that the groom’s family had completed a land transfer deal
with Tuli’s father for a considerable chunk of property in Uttora. They also
agreed to hand over the keys of a fashionable new home in Sylhet once the
wedding is over. Quite a handsome deal in lieu of a not-too-good-looking 16-yr
old girl, wouldn’t you say?
So they
decided to keep the news from her till the very end. All they told her was that
they were going to go for a family vacation to Sylhet once her exams are over.
For as long as two months, maybe more. Tuli loves going ‘home’ for a visit.
Especially to be with her mother’s folks. Her maternal grandfather and her
aunts and uncles simply dote over her. That is about the only place on earth
where she can really be herself, let her emotions fly free, and enjoy all the
freedoms she craves for. The rules there are not half as stringent as they are
in her home in New York. At her grandpa’s house she is allowed to climb a
berry-tree to pick as many berries as she wants, can horse around with her
cousins, male or female, play ludu or carom till midnight if she
pleases. The grandpa is a pretty religious man, but doesn’t like imposing his
faith on others. He dislikes the coercions and excesses. He goes to the mosques
to listen to the sermons, but will not invite the Mullahs home to do any
preaching. Pretty modern and surprisingly tolerant for an elderly man in a
conservative society. Tuli used to swim in a family pond even a couple of years
ago. Played with the cousins in the water. Her mamabari was the only place where she could be a child
again. That’s why she got excited when she heard about going home after the
exams.
This time,
though, it was going to be different. Her father had already decided that her
visits to his in-laws’ place isn’t going to be allowed anymore. It’s not just
that she is going to be married away soon, but he never really liked the ways
of their lax living. It wasn’t the right environment for children to grow up,
he thought. Too liberal for his liking. Tuli isn’t a little girl anymore. Going
to be seventeen in a couple of months. More importantly, going to married soon.
God willing, her wedding is set for July 10. That is firm----everybody knows
that. Except Tuli, of course. If the word goes out that the bride still goes
for a dip in outdoor waters then all hell will break loose. The wedding is
going to be cancelled, and along with it will go the land deal at Uttora and
the new home in Sylhet. If she wants to go after her marriage with her
husband’s permission, well, that’s not going to be his business anymore, will
it? However, this decision of his has also been kept from Tuli for the time
being, and for her own good. So the poor girl kept fantasizing about all the
things she would do at her grandpa’s house this time.
Tuli is a
dreamer. A habitual dreamer. She loves to let her imagination fly like a kite
in the sky. All kinds of crazy ideas she keeps weaving in her mind. She dreams
of riding a bicycle to the Central Park with her friends for a Michael Jackson
concert. She dreams to go for a sleep-over at the house of her Colombian friend
in school. The two of them have become best friends over the years. The friend
had asked her so many times. We shall spend the whole night talking and
talking. Next day we’ll sleep till 12 noon. Then my mother will come to wake us
up with a tray full of homemade Colombian pancakes and freshly brewed coffee.
We’ll have a lot of fun. No doubt about it---a lot of fun. How could she tell
her friend what an impossible dream it was. She dreams she would go to a Sunday
afternoon movie with the Panamanian boy in her class. Poor boy had pleaded with
her so many times. Yes, she would love to go to a movie now and then, eat
popcorn with hot butter on, like all the other boys and girls in this country.
But Tuli doesn’t belong in this country, she only lives here. How could she
explain that to Rozario? She likes the chap very much. They are not just in the
same class, but also in the same Chemistry lab. Their desks are side by side.
They help each other doing their lab work. If Tuli drops a test tube
accidentally on the floor he will rush to pick up the pieces and clean the
floor for her. He will give her a flower and a birthday card on her birthdays.
The boys in the class will whistle at them, the girls will wink meaningfully.
Tuli blushes furiously. Gets angry at Rozario. There was no need to bring the
flower in clear view of everybody in the class. It’s only a birthday, right?
You didn’t have to be so brazenly open, did you? She gets pretty rough on the
poor kid. Yet, she takes the flower in her hand and puts away in her
locker----as if it was the most precious thing anyone ever gave her. She knows
she can’t possibly take it home-----she wouldn’t dare, unless she cooked up a
phony tale. The home she lives in is not where she can take a flower given by a
loving boy on her birthday. So she lies in her bed closing her eyes dreaming
away the wistful night. Dreams her crazy dreams. With Rozario in her thoughts.
Tuli’s dream is to be a doctor. Or a top
researcher in animal studies----perhaps Microbiology. She is the top student in
her Biology class. She scored almost full marks in her term tests. And 96% in
Chemistry. Her Biology teacher thinks she should aim at going to Harvard or
Princeton for her college education. You should go to a big school if you want
to have a big career. The teacher has full confidence in Tuli’s ability to do
well enough to earn a scholarship in one of the top schools in the US. Tuli
herself would like to pursue a research career in some area of Biology. Genetic
Biology is one area that she finds most attractive. She keeps up with modern
literature on genetics as much as she can. Her dream is to work under a Nobel
Prize winning Biologist. Her Biology teacher has told her that with hard work
she can achieve anything she wants. What is just a dream today will become a
reality tomorrow.
What the
Biology teacher wouldn’t know, however, is that there is another reality, a
very stark reality, in the home of an orthodox Bangladeshi family, be it in
Bangladesh or in the US. She wouldn’t know that there are things in life that
are much more difficult to surmount than win a Nobel Prize for her 16-yr old
top student. She wouldn’t know that the poor girl would be married away on July
10 to the son of the older brother-in-law of the youngest sister-in-law of
Tuli’s aunt who lives in Bradford. She would have no way of knowing that the
news of the imminent marriage is yet to be broken to the bride-to-be girl who
she thought could win big scholarships at big schools in the country. Nobody
thought it was necessary. Tuli’s opinions? Or consent? That would be quite
irrelevant. Girls’ consent is not an essential thing in where Tuli’s family
comes from. Before the wedding her
father’s consent is her consent. After the wedding it will be her
husband’s consent that will be deemed as
her consent. If, God forbid, her husband dies before she does, then her son’s
consent will be hers, too.
So let the
girl dream away as much as she wants. That’s all she has as her own. That’s all
she owns. And that young man on the other side of the globe, that boy has a
dream too. His dream, however, is going to come true. How can a man’s dream
come true until a girl’s dream gets shattered?
11 Sept.’12
Staten
Island, NY, 10314
(Translated by the author from his Bengali
article : “Tuli’s Shapna”, written Jan 10, 2001and published in various Bengali
magazines.)
Mizan Rahman
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