Short Story
... Nazneen....
My mother called me Adrita--a nickname she apparently selected while I was still in her uterus-- even though everyone else called me by my real name Nazneen. My father was posted in Kishoreganj when I was born, but I took my first breath in Moulvi Bazaar in my grandparent's ancestral home where Amma came to stay for a few days for the delivery of her first child. Amma, then only eighteen years old, was so overjoyed to have her own baby, that she called me Adrita which, she told me as soon as I was old enough to understand, means the beloved one. After me, Amma had six more children, five sons and a daughter, but none of them got any nicknames from her. My numerous aunts and uncles came up with nicknames for my brothers and sister before Amma had any chance, and she just went along with those picked by them. As a consequence, some of my siblings ended up having more than one nicknames--for example, my youngest brother was given two, Bacchoo and Tukon, one from my mother's family and the other from my father's. Anyway, I was Amma's darling when I was growing up and reciprocated by helping her out after my brothers and sister were born and during their adolescent years. After my sister, who was the youngest of us, was born she became the recipient of all my attention and creative energy since I was very happy to finally have a sister after five brothers. I adoringly called her Putul when she was three months old and that's the way it was until she was nine or ten, when she told me that she did not like that name any longer. Since then, I called her by her real name, Naushin.
I got married when I was starting my MA in Sociology at Dhaka University. By then, marriage proposals had been streaming in incessantly from my father's friends and colleagues on the lookout for a daughter-in-law. Amma was not very happy to see me get married and leave the house even though she knew that sooner or later she would have to let go of me. One day, my father announced that a colleague of his wanted to visit us with his son to see me, for koney dekha. I was surprised since most of the others before that either came to the University to get a glimpse of me or saw me at one my aunts' who were drawn in to facilitate the ghotkali process. When Amma asked him why my prospective in-laws can't just go to the University to get a glimpse of me, my father proudly announced that this "candidate" was very smart, and wanted to meet the girl he was going to marry face to face. That's how I met my future husband. I was never asked by my parents if I had any liking or disliking vis-à-vis men, or if I had any liking of my own. Two of Amma's three sisters had "love marriages" as they used to be known as in those days, and I would have preferred to have found my own life partner, but I never had a chance since I channeled all my energy on studies and my younger siblings, and these kept me wondrously occupied.
Amma did not cry at all, as I was afraid she would, during my wedding. She was busy chatting with my aunts and uncles, and was giving directions to my brothers and sister on this and that. "Please make sure the groom's family is seated properly and our beyaine is shown proper respect"; "Remind your father to greet the bar jatri "; "Don't ask for an outrageous sum for salaami" etc. etc. I overheard all those commands and conversations even though I was in my room with my friends and cousins who were told to not let anyone in or allow me to go out. I could hear Amma keeping track of the army of helpers and guests and could not help but wonder where she found so much energy from. It seemed like she was on an energy pilloutwardly she appeared very excited and I surmised it was all driven by the reservoir of motherly love she had been saving for the day when her eldest daughter would get married and our house would be humming in the company of family members and friends would gather there to enjoy the first marriage in our family. I remember she was constantly humming the tune for a Tagore song, which she had told me many years ago was the song that her mother had sung when she herself got married to my father:
On the journey that you begin today on this boat, O newlyweds, Be sure to keep as your guide the One who guides the universe . . .
When it was time for me to go with my husband, and I got down from the podium at the completion of the rosumat, she whispered in my ear, "Take good care of your mother-in-law". I was puzzled because I was expecting to hear another of her favorite Tagore songs, but then I understood.
I moved into a joint family, with my husband's parents and one unmarried sister, Kanika. I tried to adjust to my new surroundings and role, and everything was going well for the first two years. I was too excited about my new life and busy trying to find my bearing to notice anything except that living in a joint family with in-laws entails a lot of responsibilities and a complex set of "dos and don'ts", some of which I had learnt from my Amma, but others I was not prepared for. My husband Akram, being an only son, always deferred to his parents for any decision. When he was transferred to Chittagong to be the District Commissioner, I wanted to join him there. But my in-laws convinced him to leave me in Dhaka and stay in a government rest house in lieu of the DC bungalow.
"You guys are young and need to save money for your children. If Akram stays at a mess he will save money and he can visit you every month," they said.
I was going to talk to Akram about this arrangement which was not what I was expecting, but he also sided with them, and I did not bring it up with him or voice any reservations. Amma, when she heard about Akram's decision to leave me in Dhaka, voiced her strong displeasure but said nothing either to my in-laws or to him. She knew from her own experience that keeping quiet in certain situations is better than to rock the boat. I guess I inherited the motto "go with the flow" from my mother.
While Akram was in Chittagong, I had my first child. I named him Farhan and was glad to have a companion to fill up my days. Akram came every month to see us, particularly to spend time with his parents. It was during these months that I noticed some change in his attitude towards me. Before, when we were alone in our bedroom, he would try to touch me, and draw me closer towards him. During the pregnancy, he stopped this and we almost never made love during this period. While this change took me by surprise and worried me, I did not bring it up with him. But I could sense that something was amiss when I found out that he was talking frequently on the cell phone on the roof. As soon as I went to the roof to join him, he would hang up. I was not sure if I should ask him about these calls but
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