Apamoni's Memoir

Anwara Khatun's Memoir

In the mid 1980's, as Apamoni's health was declining, she wrote a few journals about her life. Nearly 30 years later, Brata and Ipsha worked to translate it into English.

I had a desire to write about my childhood days as I was growing up with my mother and father. That is why I am writing today.

The first I have to say is that I am the firstborn and the first daughter of my parents, and I am the oldest. We are 9 siblings—5 brothers, 4 sisters. At the time, I was 10 or 11 years old, and I had studied until Class 4. Then there was not much opportunity for girls to study. Nonetheless, maybe I could have learned more than I did. However, unfortunately, my mother became mentally ill. Since that time, I began to take care of then household and began to look after my younger siblings. Hos much maturity did I have at the time! Still, somehow, I kept continuing with my responsibilities. Ma became completely insane. As a matter of fact, she did not pay any attention to her children. After 4 or 5 years since that time, I got married. What could I do then? I didn't understand what I could at the time. That's because, on the one hand, I left my younger siblings by themselves, while on the other hand, there was so much turmoil and chaos at my in-laws! My heart cried at the thought of my little brothers and sisters. Even now, I can hardly describe my anguish at the time, and I still can't express myself. These thoughts circle in my head. Did my little siblings eat properly? Did they bathe? Who is feeding them, and who is making their food? These are the thoughts that constantly pressed upon me.

Whenever I returned home from my in-laws house, sometimes a month later, sometimes 7-8 months later, then I realized that my siblings awaited eagerly for my arrival. As soon as I arrived, my siblings instantly gathered around me. What treasure they seemed to discover! It was as if they had discovered the moon itself! Everyone asked the same question--”Bubu, how could you stay away from us for so long? Didn't you think of us at all?”

They had so many complaints against one another and so many childhood grievances to related to me. Only when they had finally finished telling me did they find relief. And the first thing they asked? “Bubu, how long will you stay with us? You're not going to leave again, are you?” How could I respond then? I would say, “Alright, I'll stay here with you.” What joy the felt at the time I cannot express!

Yet, 2-3 days prior to my departure, what despair the children experienced! I couldn't stay long when I went to my father's house. At most, I was able to stay 5-7 days, then I had to leave once again. We four sister, we never got to truly rejoice together at our fathers' house.

The few days that I was able to spend there, I only thought of my little siblings. What would happen to them? How would they grow up? How could they become good human beings? These thoughts pervaded my mind.

A few years after my marriage, my three sisters got married too. My brothers remained unmarried. The days slowly began to pass. They also grew up, they also got married and started families. For my brothers, I would always ponder—when will they grow up? When will they have their own families? If they got married, started families, then some of my worries could be laid to rest—they could at least have someone to take care of them once they were finally established (in their jobs and careers.) Somehow they did grow up and relieved me from my worries.

My mother and father also passed away. However, they passed away after having witnessed each of us being settled and happy in our lives. This gives me my utmost satisfaction and peace of mind.

I hope that I will continue writing more of my autobiography. Perhaps, I will keep writing, but I will conclude for today.

Once again, I begin with describing that I have 3 sisters. My immediate younger sister is known as Jahanara Khatun, the next one is called Fazilatunnesa, nickname “Boromoni.” By the way, Jahanara's nickname is “Budi.” The youngest one is known as Nazma Khanam, nicknamed “Chotomoni.” My sisters have also had kids, and each of their children have received education.

Of my 5 brothers, my immediate younger brother, i.e., the oldest brother is Gias Uddin, nicknamed “Khoka.” The second brother is Ayesh Uddin. The third brother is Taslim Uddin. The fourth is Rafiqul Islam. And the fifth one is Maidul Islam. Of my brothers, my third brother, Taslim, was especially easygoing (straightforward). He as the one who most missed me. Though all of them missed me, he inquired after me the most (when I would leave.) Whenever I returned home from my in-laws, he would be the one who most remembered how many days I had been gone. All of them remembered, of course, but he was the one who would express it the most fervently: “Bubu, you came back after this many days or this many months.” Now, they have all grown up. My worries have finally subsided.

This is my identity from my parents. There is so much more to relate, but I can't write everything.

My parents had a desire to educate each of their children. However, in those days, we sisters learned what were the most basic skills (some reading, some arithmetic). Of the brothers, the oldest one learned enough to run his own affairs. The second one got his M.A. In Political Science and became a Professor in Rajshahi University. The third one became the Superintendent for Water and Power Development. The fourth one takes care of his household and is quite clever and intelligent. He is very social . The fifth ones, finally—he earned his degree with a specialization in the jute industry, and now he is working for the government. Here, then, is my family.

Earlier, I described my close relationship with my parents. Even now, we remain just as close (they have died already). Everyone, including myself, has grown up and established our own families. That's why I want to talk about my own family and my time with my in-laws.

I am the oldest girl of my parents. I was not raised with indulgent affection or with neglect (but somewhere in between). Every child is raised with their parents' love, and it was the same with my parents (when they were still alive). However, it was quite unfortunate that my mother became mentally ill-my father, who was already busy supervising the household, became clueless as to how he would manage everything after my mother became ill. Still, my father had unlimited amounts of patience.

Now, I would like to relate more about my own family. When I first got married and arrived at my in-laws, I entered an unknown household. I couldn't understand their way of living. They lived differently from my family—perhaps, we were not accustomed to each other's lifestyles or perhaps, I couldn't follow their rules. That's why I had to endure their verbal abuse. Furthermore, though I received my husband's protection, my in-laws' household did not approve of this relationship. If I met or even spoke to my husband, I was convicted of a great crime. As long as my husband was at home, no one berated me. However, as soon as he left, a barrage of malicious gossip and criticism was hurled at me. What could I do then? I shut out my senses and endured.

In this manner, my days passed. Whatever my husband is like now...