forever is too long

This morning, I was having a cup of coffee with a new friend. We have been working on something substantial over the past week or more. and conversations with him has been strictly about work- ideas, information and planning.

Today after a few hours of work, another friend mentioned something about relationships, i could tell his expression had changed immediately. As small as this world is becoming, it is not surprising that I already know that he has had a break-up very recently, that too with someone he dated for almost a decade. After a brief silence, the conversation lead to his story, and he tells me, he has become devoid of emotions lately. he just has not been able to feel it anymore. You can tell, the guy has gone through a lot, and is probably still struggling to get over the heartache. I asked what went wrong and he could not put it in the right words. and said quite the same thing, i have heard from several people- you are better off being your self, happier doing things for yourself and building your own life.

He is right in some sense, and perhaps wrong too. He is right when he says you are better off- afterall you are not giving someone that power to hurt you beyond repair. He is wrong in some sense too, and he does admit immediately- there remains that empty feeling, that hollow feeling.

Relationships are strange. maybe most people are right when they say modern relationships are increasingly becoming more and more complex and weak in terms of sustainance. increasingly relationships are taking the form of an experiment rather than an idea of being together forever, through thick and thin.

New Yorker, once published an essay written by a university student, where she mentioned, ‘ from all the boyfriends that i have had, there is one thing that i had expected- that they would stay. for a long time if not forever.’ You would expect that they stay, that they would love very much, if not unconditionally. that is only natural isn’t it?

Yes, it is way too complicated than that. and it will not be at all justified, if I try to pin down specific reasons or flaws. I am no expert. I am just rambling here afterall.

There is no specific reason afterall. Like my friend, most people just let it go. You try for years, to hold it together, to give, to change things and build it. and one fine morning or in one split second you realise, this cannot be changed. no matter how hard you try. no matter how much you want. It is better to let go sometimes. even though that, i personally feel, is the hardest of all. to let go and walk away.

but sometimes like that song says, love just ain’t enough. and sometimes you just cannot change people and change their ways. and you keep hurting each other in the process of trying to make things right. and before you know the very thing for which you were in this relationship is gone forever.

My friend perhaps, like many people, will never get over her. sometimes, you just don’t get over some people. sometimes, you just cannot erase some memories that are close to heart. but you gotta move on, no matter how hard it may be.

Forever, my friend, as sad as it may be, is too long to hold anyone by.

Going back to my friend, six months down the line of his break-up, i ask him a question that makes him silent for more than just a brief second. Are you over her? The answer is no. Things did get better, but that did not make him fall out of love at all.

True, getting over ain’t that easy. and harder is to stop loving someone dearly, when you know there is nothing left to hold on to. Maybe life is such that, there will always be someone who we will never get over- their smile, the smell, their warmth or just the look of those eyes.

The people’s war

Tahmina Shafique writes about the exhibition in London that records and retells the birth of Bangladesh and the images that bring to life the resilence and melancholy of people during 1971

Those who have lived through the war of independence in 1971, speak of it with tears of pride and inexplicable melancholy. Often, they struggle to fight back tears and find words that would perhaps justify the depths of the movement- the depth of the extraordinary power, resilence and belief of the people.

More often than not, they say, words fail to do justice- to the desperation, to the strength, to the struggles, the desperate cries, the haunting memories, the images, the bloodsheds and more.

True, words fail to justify even the bloodiest war of the twentieth century. And more often, words seem to die and with that a part of history seems to fade. So has the history of 1971 in so many ways. Even though the war stands till date as the worst genocide of World War II era – the number of deaths being well into seven figures, outstripping Rwanda (800,000 killed) and probably surpassing even Indonesia (1 million to 1.5 million killed in 1965-66), it remains to be a largely unacknowledged event in the history of the world.

The larger part of the world population seem to have very little knowledge and awareness concerning the campaign of violence on the part of the Pakistani army as the Bengali people of the then East Pakistan sought to achieve political sovereignty.

Thirty seven years on, the war remains to be a contested issue- those who had seen the war continue to fight to pass on the true stories to the next generation and at the same time fight between emotional and psychological intensity that the war left within them.

In the past 37 years, so much has been written, so much told, yet it is felt that none of it could bring to the life the true images of the war, none of it could justify what this people’s war meant.

Yet, amidst these, photographs speak the tale of the war that time may have forgotten. It is also true that war photographs remain to be powerful in history- because of the intensity – both emotional and physical that it portrays, but also perhaps the photographs of 1971 stand out for several other reasons. More than anything else, the photographers seem to stand out for the one fact that it was the people’s war- not the armies- but people- farmers, villagers, man, woman and child.

This month as an exhibition titled ‘Bangladesh 1971’ takes place at the Rivington Place public gallery in Shoreditch, East London, they retell the tale of the war visually, bringing back painful memories to Bangladeshis and leaving others in awe. These photographs of the war taken in 1971 bring to life the very images of the beginning of a dream- the movement of people and the birth of Bangladesh.

In this exhibition, most were amateur photographers at that time, men who just happened to hold a camera when they found themselves caught up in the war. For almost two decades, Shahidul Alam – director of the Drik, the photography Library in Dhaka and a curator of the current exhibition along with Mark Sealy, director of photographic agency Autograph ABP – went beyond the struggle to justify the war with words and collected these photos, visiting the photographers in their homes and saving their negatives.

These images taken by these accidental archivists, 37 years later have gone on to become an intimate, reflexive portrait of the war, ranging from photographs that are well known to others that have never been seen in public.

The exhibition consists of more than 100 images organised in loose chronology that begins with the first resistance of the Bengalis, to the Pakistani occupation. The exhibition portrays some powerful images. The spirit and resilience of 1969-70, when war was imminent is captured most powerfully by Rashid Talukdar’s image of a ten-year-old bare feet boy, leading a street march and shouting ecstatically and leading the group.

The collection includes many iconic images of war: Abdul Hamid Raihan’s image of two children staring into the distance, a carpet of missiles scattered at their feet; Mohammed Shafi’s portrait of a freedom fighter – a boy who could be from anywhere – reveals a young man’s fear despite his attempt at studied resolve. Other images depict the horror and the haunting night mares that many speak of till date.

On the night of December 14, knowing they were about to lose the war, the Pakistani army and its local paramilitary allies massacred the future doctors, teachers, lawyers, and writers of Bangladesh in an effort to cripple the new nation. The bodies were not found until after independence, when a mass grave was discovered in the city. The exhibition includes a powerful image of this massacre- a ghostlike face surrounded by submerged bricks and covered in a thin sheen of mud.

Bangladesh 1971 also showcases the many portraits of the slaughter. A photograph shows a uniformed man circled by a large crowd, stabbing a civilian with a bayonet; the caption tells us that it is not a Pakistani soldier but a Bengali one, attacking a local man who has collaborated with the army, is outstanding. According to reports, at Alam’s first exhibition of war photos in Bangladesh, the government had requested that he removed this image, in which the roles of victim and perpetrator are reversed. His refusal led to the exhibition being shown at a private gallery rather than at the National Museum.

It is here that Alam is most successful in bringing the untold tales of the war and the complexities of the many roles played. The exhibition in all, documents the political story, the landslide election victory of Sheikh Mujib, the betrayals by collaborators, the massacre of intellectuals two days before the surrender of the Pakistani forces – and at the same time it reveals other stories- some untold, some silent.

Walking out in the newly liberated town of Mymensingh, the photographer Naib Uddin Ahmed had come across woman who had been raped and tortured by the Pakistani army: his picture of a woman covering her face with her hair bears witness to the contradictory state policy regarding such women and the powerful image seems to speak louder than words.

Another powerful image that showcases women’s struggle and their actions in the war is the image of women preparing for battle prior to the crackdown of March 25, 1971. The exhibition includes many more photographs- idyllic image of two women wading through a pond with a basket of flowers, carrying grenades covered with water hyacinth- show the strong role played by women. The countless images, a visual testament to the trauma and hope of independence.

Some of the photographers were also of actual freedom fighters, like Mohammad Shafi, whose diaries, buried underground and recovered after the war, are the only non-photographic artefacts on display. Alam characterises these Bangladeshi photographers as freedom fighters for the huge personal risks they took to preserve the only ‘physical documentation of this war’.

As Bangladesh 1971, a visual journey into the birth of Bangladesh brings to life the memories to many and awes the rest, thousands of miles away from home, in many ways at an important political time such as this, important questions once again appear and linger on- have we as a nation paid respect to those who fought for independence? Are we still fighting another fight?

http://www.newagebd.com/2008/apr/18/apr18/xtra_inner5.html

Leave me a few good songs, take the rest

I need a week to pack up
or maybe more.
Could you do my work for this week?

I gotta dig a hole to keep
to keep too many things
your box would probably not suffice
nor would your biggest suit case
there are way too many moments we gotta wrap up tonight
too many moments to pack and lock away my friend
You can Keep them all for me, just leave me a few good songs.

Exactly, there are too many moments
Should we start packing them all? or should I just leave them in the attic?
Too many moments – too many little things and big ones
and none at all
too many first times
Too many aches, and too many scars

Too many words too, would you not say?
Chew them, and your jaws will start to rust
Swallow them and they would be too much to take in

Where do we keep them?
How do we keep away?
keep away from memories
Keep away from lonliness
Keep away from the scars that remain?

There are too many voices, too many silent screams
screaming at you. you just left too many shades of blue
or may be black
clean your own part, clean that dirt
why leave too many on this floor?
Why would you not bother?

Clean this surface
Clean that attic of mine
pack those things lying around
pack up the smell too,
the rotten smell of the many bitter memories
pack the good ones too

Take everything, just leave me a few good songs though
for now. forever.
forever is too long to hold you by
but those good songs of you and I will suffice
would you not say?

I am digging deeper
lets bid farewell to the many moments
to the broken promises, disappointments, bitter memories
to that screaming silence and you?

searching

I think about writing every other day. about the little somethings that sometimes slip away, and nothing at all. clearly i never get around to do that.

Some days just pass too fast and I want there to be more hours in a day- to complete the neverending to-do lists, to breathe, to relax and ponder. and there are somedays like today, when i keep checking the time and it seems to stand still. Weekends are blissful most of the times. Except the Friday evening classes and make-up classes on saturdays and work that comes up once in a while.

In the past few months, I have been searching for answers, trying to figure out things- both about myself and others around me. Often, i lose track of time. of conversations. of patterns. I just phase out. my brain cells seem to shut down by evening, and i begin to ponder. at other days, i just keep thinking about 150 things at the same time. keep questioning, keep searching, keep exploring.

Sometimes, I just stand still and feel this would the moment that I would know the answers. to all those jumbled up puzzles and questions. but, that does not happen.

I am still searching. still trying to figure out the answers. there is no gurantee on anything. but i seem to seek gurantees, and assurance. not just for a specific time period, but for as long as i may be alive. that does not happen for products, does it? how would it happen to other things?

the ‘D’ tag

She was always very particular about things. Her own wedding, obviously was not an exception. she focused on each and every detail- the colour of the flowers, the candles, the sarees, the costumes of the dancers, the dance steps, the mehendi design- name it. It was a grand wedding. The kind every girl possibly dreams of- lights, candles, flowers, sparks. a fairytale wedding.

Two years later, she sits at a crowded restaurant joking about her friend who met the (fat) girl of his dreams at her wedding while the girl was dancing. The irony was that as we spoke of the (fat) dream girl, she was sitting at the other end of the restaurant with her friend. We keep our voices low and laugh about how the friend is still with this girl! ‘Yeah, how funny! My marriage fell apart just like that and look they are still together,’ she says laughing and looking away.

She does this a lot. Laughs it off as though it does not hurt anymore. as though she is immune to any kind of pain. i would not blame her if that was true though. she has had to swallow so much. its sometimes unbelievable. and at others, just scary.

This friend stayed in an abusive marriage for two years and did everything she could. But why? She is beautiful, educated, confident and eligible in every possible way. ‘It was a marriage. You just cannot walk away like that – there is the family and the society to answer.’

So, she did stay on in this marriage, with a man who married her as part of his obligations to his parents (yes, you can play with someone’s life just like that) and took her to the US and continued his relationship with his girlfriend, right before his wife’s eyes. and at the end, just kicked her out of his life, because he could not stand her voice, or her presence.

Did this man’s parents stand and say this was wrong?No, they didn’t. Why would they? They can blame it on her. Maybe she was not patient enough, or good enough, or perhaps too short, no? And our wonderful society followed their voice, and had a blast talking about her.

Her’s is not an isolated case sadly. There are so many more.  Just among a single group of friends, there are six divorcees i know. Tanu has been living through the worst nightmares ever. Five years on, she still sometimes struggles to fight back tears when she speaks of her abusive marriage and divorce. Ridita still swallows everything that the society has to say to her because she is a young, single mother. There is always someone or other, (even the closest people) who remind her she is “different” because it is her “fault” that she is divorced with a child at 26. Nadia is back in Dhaka and she is still dreading it- the society will not spare her at all.

Each of one of these women and countless others have a story to tell. There are those who speak of stories of abuse that they kept hiding for years, until it was enough. and there are these younger women, who are stepping out of marriages as they become nightmares. It takes a lot of courage. a lot of strength to start new. Even after these women pick up the pieces and try to move on, there are always people to pull them back.

The rate of divorces have certainly gone up- at least among the urban middle class families. Putting aside the fact that it is undesireable and indeed a painful experience to go through, it does indicate the fact that women/men are aware of their rights, and have the courage to walk out of marriages, instead of keeping silent forever in an unhappy marriage.

This group is clearly a minor group in the larger society that is still undergoing a transition. The growing numbers of divorce rates do indicate that the stigma associated with the word ’divorce’ is slowly starting to peel. Families are slowly being supportive, although the numbers are still very low.

Even if there is that family support, there is still the rest of the society that is up on their heels to talk. to analyize the situation. and start the blame game. and mind you, it is always and invariably the woman’s fault- She could have been patient, she was just a rude person, she was too fast, she had to many guy friends, she was just not goodlooking enugh, she needed to be able to know how to keep her man, she did not try enough, so big deal if the man was sleeping with someone? she could compromise for her family or her kids, how hard is it to stay?

Surprisingly, most people who do make these statements are women themselves. I do often wonder. When we do speak of women’s rights and liberation, and the inherent need for the men to realise that it is time for change, do we realise that there is a huge chunk of women who need to help these women too. If women are the once demeaning other women, where do you find the strength to carry on?

Look around you- at home, workplace, get togethers and any where, it is women who are often making other women’s lives miserable. This past week, one of my ’so-called’ friend comes up to me and whispers about this friend who went through a terrible divorce. ‘She could have compromised a little, couldn’t she? She is a woman afterall. it’s a marriage for the love of God! Is she nuts? who is going to marry her?’

And this is coming from a so-called educated young woman, who presumably believes in equality and works in an international agency. really. my friend, yes she could have compromised just a bit more. really she could have kept silent and be unhappy for the rest of her life. but would you do the same, had you been in her shoes?

Perhaps not. or maybe you too, would have remained silent like countless others and not do justice to your own life.

*names mentioned here have been changed.

writing again

I have been planning on writing on this blog for a whole now. But, procrastination, in my case, has not led to anything beneficial.

I have often considered being a regular blogger, write a post everyday, on anything random- on work, on the little somethings and nothing at all. One of the issues I faced, the very few times, I got around to start writing something was, do bloggers have a private space? Maybe yes, or maybe no.

A friend once, gave a very logical explaination- why write them on a blog, if you want them to be private? write a diary instead and keep it to yourself. But, maybe people do find peace or some form of consolation in writing about their trying days, about their challenges, about their never ending complaints or the like- maybe the idea of people, unknown and far away, reading and understanding, matters. Maybe, when the loved ones fail to understand, strangers do. I do not have the answers yet. But, I would like to give it try again.

My writings till date have been features, as the readers will note- mostly human rights, education and other issues,published in New Age, the National Newspaper, in Bangladesh. This blog started with the idea of posting my published work- stories that I had felt passionately about. Few years later, I moved to a consultancy firm, which I must admit was a tough call. I dreamt upto being a journalist- but that didn’t seem to be financially viable.

Like everyone else, I had to move on and like they say, sell my soul to the corporate world. Writing as a result, has taken a back seat. I do contribute occasionally, but there is nothing like staying up all night to meet weekly deadlines to file stories, or exploring around to unfold a story!

My friends, who have always said I am a wonderful writer and that I should never stop writing, also admitted that I only write well about thing I care about or feel passionately about.

To myself, writing has always been a space where I find myself. where I have found peace.

and that is a good enough reason to start over, wouldn’t you say? I have not done real time blogging, but here is a start.

Talking Gender Parity

On the occasion of International Women’s Day, Tahmina Shafique recaps the steep climb for women’s rights in Bangladesh, starting from the initiation of the National Women’s Development Policy in 1997 and the follow up, or lack thereof

photo by Al-Emrun Garjon

Like every year, this month we will be celebrating International Woman’s Day across the world. This is presumably the day when women on all continents, despite differences of class, ethnicity, culture and economy come together to celebrate their day. It is a day to reflect back to a tradition that represents at least nine decades of struggle for equality, justice, peace and development.

It is in this very month that once again the fact dawns that Women’s Day, in a country such as Bangladesh that is structured and characterised by patriarchy, is till date a singular attempt to recognise the fundamental right of a woman and the need for change in our inherent social norms that further isolate a woman from her right to protection, freedom and decision making.

Yet again, Bangladeshi women find themselves sifting through the tales of many movements, protests and struggles.

According to a recent survey report released by Ain O Salish Kendra (ASK), a human rights organisation based in Dhaka, violence against women claimed 518 lives across the country last year. Of the victims, 172 women were killed over dowry and 246 in domestic violence while 83 killed after rape. The list also includes 17 female domestic helps.

Besides that, 367 more women were raped and eight of them committed suicide during the one-year period. Two domestic helps also committed suicide. Twenty women fell victim to fatwas (religious edict).

The report points out that a total of 168 people were killed in shootouts with the law enforcers and 68 people died in the police and jail custody in 2008.

Add to this, according to a study undertaken by the International Centre for Diarrhoeal Diseases and Research, Bangladesh (ICDDR,B), about 60 per cent of women of reproductive age (15-49 years) have been physically or sexually abused during their lifetimes. The finding was based on a survey of over 3,130 women.

These statistics are sheer reflections of the struggles that Bangladeshi women face in several spheres. It is here, that important questions begin to appear. In a nation where violence against women is a major issue and where a large segment of the women fight for their basic minimum rights, let alone any other, one cannot help but wonder as to why the state does not step up. Why is the much talked about National Women’s Development Policy yet to be implemented?

‘We really need to have the policy implemented,’ says Ayesha Khanam, president, Mahila Parishad. ‘How much longer are we going to wait?’

In the election manifesto of the Awami League, there was great emphasis on working for women empowerment. The manifesto read, ‘In order to ensure women’s empowerment and equality in rights and opportunities, the Women Development Policy formulated by Awami League in 1997 will be revived. The number of reserved seats for women by direct election in the Parliament will be increased to 100. Necessary measures will be taken for appointment of women in senior posts in the administration and in all spheres of employment. Strictest legal measures will be taken to stop oppression of women. Discriminatory laws against the interest of women will be rectified.’

Over a month after AL has assumed its seat, we are yet to see any concrete steps being taken. This past month, several women’s right organisations including Bangladesh Mahila Parishad demanded the immediate implementation of the National Women’s Development Policy of 1997.

The policy needs to be implemented urgently and immediately and this should have been on the top of the present government’s mandate, say women activists. There is a reason for this sense of urgency.

In the past one decade, there has been the constant struggle of women rights groups to voice these very rights that are still confronted with the most medieval of customs, constraints and abuses. Although the movement has made great strides in several ways, in adopting a global perspective on women’s issues, and translating and adapting that perspective into ground level reality, they continue to struggle on certain issues. Despite all that has been achieved, gender parity is still a distant milepost, because of a specific, political, anti-women agenda of the day – which is narrow and regressive, say experts.

More importantly the sense of urgency comes due to the sheer challenge that has been seen in implementing this policy that has been due for over a decade now.

The long cycle

The National Women’s Development Policy in Bangladesh dates back to 1997, which was the result of long struggle of women’s movement in Bangladesh which indicated equal status and sharing of power for women in written document.

‘It was one of the major successes of our time, to introduce such a policy where major issues such as women’s reproductive rights and equal inheritance rights and more were included,’ points out Dipu Moni, foreign minister, also secretary, Women’s Affairs, Awami League and a lawyer and public health expert.

The original policy was formulated in 1997, following the United Nation’s Beijing Women’s Conference, directly involving activists and thinkers in the process. The policy adopted by the AL-led government in 1997 said that steps would be taken to provide women with ‘equal opportunities and share of resources, employment, market and businesses’. Underlining the importance of ‘economic empowerment of women’, the 1997 policy stressed their ‘full opportunity of owning and equal right over controlling property, earned through better health, education, training, lifelong education, vocational/technical training, information, employment opportunities, inheritance, resources, credit facilities and market management and their right to land’. The policy also stressed the need of ‘enacting fresh laws required to put these rights into practice’.

The 1997 policy had 104 principles, grouped into 14 areas of concern. While the policy was an eye-opener, and in several ways a landmark in the form of a written document, the government failed to implement it.

In May 2004, the BNP-led government’s policy, adopted the policy – almost a duplicate of the one adopted by the government of the Awami League in March 1997. ‘But while copying it, they deliberately changed, as well as dropped, certain words, phrases and paragraphs, making the policy document much worse, undermining some democratic responsibilities of the state to empower women, particularly in terms of ensuring equal political, economic and other material rights,’ says Ayesha.

In addition the 2004 policy adopted by the BNP-led government dropped the idea of providing women with ‘share of resources’, let alone equal share. Furthermore, the idea of women acquiring property through ‘inheritance’ on the one hand and the ‘right to land’ on the other was excluded.

The 1997 policy clearly valued the role of the women’s rights movement and NGOs. While sidetracking this issue, the new policy had also dropped the principle of inspiring these two groups of actors to take up campaigns for encouraging women’s participation in politics. On violence against women, the 1997 policy expressed concern about state or police violence and community edicts subjecting women to public lashing, stoning, even burning to death. The 2004 policy did away with all of this.

The 1997 policy also highlighted ‘induction of a significant number of women in the cabinet, the highest decision-making forum (of the government), under the relevant articles of the constitution, if necessary’. The 2004 policy diluted the need for inducting ‘a significant number of women’, particularly in the cabinet, by technically re-phrasing the sentence. It opted for induction of ‘a significant number of women’ in the decision-making bodies ‘at all levels’, ignoring the importance of the presence of more women in the cabinet.

Finally, last year, in 2008, the policy the military-controlled interim government tabled the National Women’s Development Policy (NWDP) 2008, but with that important questions were raised as to why the content of the policy had omissions and lacked clear and detailed issues that needed to be considered. Above that, the recent outrage of religious clerics and different Islamist radical groups, have given rise to suspicions of political machinations, say some women rights activists. The policy was attacked in processions and protests by a section of the Islamist groups. Several thousand activists of different Islamist outfits staged demonstrations protesting the policy and demanding its immediate withdrawal.

‘The policy brings to life some actions and beliefs of the state,’ points out Farida Akhter, a women’s rights activist and head of Nari Grantha Prabartana, a Dhaka-based NGO. ‘When we had protests on the streets by women, police chose to hit women and stop them. Yet when other groups, who are undoubtedly anti-women rights, came on the streets giving religious excuses in 2008, we saw the state defending itself, justifying its steps, giving explanations to anti-women rights groups. What does that reflect?’ she asks.

About time

Experts agree that the 1997 policy introduced by AL by far, among all the others introduced the best reflections of issues to be addressed. As the manifesto of the present government suggests, it is expected that the policy will be implemented. But at the same time, it is important to note that after 11 long years, the policy needs to have further progress in terms of empowerment in education, jobs and more. As the manifesto points out, seats for women would be increased to 100, indeed a laudable step, if implemented, given the decade-long fight of women for this significant political right.

Needless, to say that the challenge for the present government comes in several folds. For one, it is likely that given that the 1997 policy is followed without the omissions made, it is a test for this government to fight through the expected chaos and protests by religious groups – specifically in case of equal property rights.

‘Through this new law they want to teach us what we know and practice before them,’ said Mohammad Kamaruzzaman, assistant general secretary, Jamaat-e-Islami. ‘Is there equality between man and man in society? Some men are rich and some have nothing, so where is equality? The idea of equality is vague, what we can do is to reduce the existing difference between man and woman. This step has been against Islam and all of the recent actions show that politically the state wants to show that we are not for women’s right but the truth is Islam does ensure women’s rights.’

According to the constitution of Bangladesh, section 19, Equality of opportunity, sub clause 2, it is stated clearly that ‘The State shall adopt effective measures to remove social and economic inequality between man and man and to ensure the equitable distribution of wealth among citizens, and of opportunities in order to attain a uniform level of economic development throughout the Republic’.

The constitution clearly says any law inconsistent with the equality rights will become void. The government can discard religion-based personal laws. Instead it is regularly stated that discriminatory laws in inheritance, rights in marriage or divorce cannot be touched because that would hurt religious sentiments. ‘Personal values in religions are always applicable, but that does not mean that we cannot have a state policy that supports equality in all spheres,’ states Ayesha.

It is here that formulation of uniform family code becomes significant. ‘Women in different religions get different shares of properties – equal in some religions and less in others. Our demand was to formulate a uniform family code giving women equal rights. The issue was not made clear in the policy,’ said Sultana Kamal.

A Uniform Family Code is still a far cry, believe women activists, yet it is not impossible.

To challenge personal laws is to go against religion and challenge the constitution of Bangladesh, which declares Islam as the state religion, which will be the basis of all actions. While many Muslim countries have ratified CEDAW and included Uniform Family Code, it is yet to be widespread. With this government, it is hoped that that there will be the courage to break tradition.

The choices for this government remain quite clear. With over a decade of rule with two women as the head of the state, it is not too much to ask that the policy be taken a close look at, in the current context and implement what has been the right of women in Bangladesh.

http://www.newagebd.com/2009/mar/06/mar06/xtra_inner2.html

‘Even before I could speak, I was humming’

Celebrated singer and thespian Shimul Yousuff turned fifty this week. In a moving interview with Tahmina Shafique, she talks about her childhood and a death that will haunt her forever

photo by Al-Emrun Garjon

This week Shimul Yousuff, the stage performer, is celebrating her fiftieth birthday and a career that has spanned forty-five years. She is renowned for her versatility as an actress and singer, and is famed for her appearances in plays such as Binodini, Moner Kalindi, and Shukhoni and for her screen performances in Ekatturer Jishu, Agami and Ghuddi. However, despite her numerous successes and awards, she tells me that it was the death of her brother-in-law, the music composer Altaf Mahmood in the Liberation War, that stands out as the most abiding and powerful memory of her life.

Shimul was nine when Altaf married her sister, and he immediately became more like a father to her, as well as a guru and a close friend. She was present when he was caught and tortured by the Pakistani army in 1971 and the incident has shaped the rest of her life. Although she has been left with permanent scarring of the soul, it also gave her the impetus to move on and become what she is today.

‘I still remember the look in his eyes – he had so much to tell me,’ says Shimul, fighting back the tears. ‘I was standing there in front of him when they started punching him and slashing up his skin; he was covered in blood.

He looked straight at me – the look seemed to last forever – and his eyes commanded me to promise him so many things – to make the most of my talents, to look after the family, especially his daughter, and to be strong and resolute in whatever I chose to do. I felt numb and didn’t move because, somehow, I think I knew that it was the last time I would see him, and that I had to come to terms with it’. Her voice trails off and she remains silent for a while.

Perhaps this is what gave her the determination to get so much out of her own life, achieving enormous popularity for her singing, composing and acting. In fact, it would appear, as I sit down in a cosy corner of her Dhaka apartment, that the entire nation were paying tribute to her cultural contributions; the sprawling drawing room is filled with bouquets of flowers and cards.

The sunlight is streaming through the window making her eyes look even more exotic than usual. Her face seems to exude more and more confidence with age, and she is beautiful in the way strong women are. She talks to me, excitedly, of her childhood and of her versatile career that started at the age of five.

‘I have been told that I was a natural born singer. Even before I could speak I used to hum nonsense,’ she laughs. She was born into a family where music was a part of everything. ‘My father had a powerful voice and I still remember the prayers that he used to sing. My mother also had a beautiful voice and I cherished the sound of her singing from the Qu’ran each morning.’ She and her five brothers and two sisters shared an idyllic childhood but when her father died, when Shimul was just four years old, everything changed.

The family suffered from severe financial problems. ‘I have known what it is like to be poor and I know the pains and struggles of growing up without a father,’ she says. There was no alternative but for two of her brothers to give up their education in order to work and support the family. ‘There were days when we could not even afford two meals, yet my mother’s determination that I continue my education and singing held firm, and she insisted that we keep my music teacher!’

In 1962, when Shimul was five, the radio programme Kochi Kachar Mela took notice of her recitals. ‘I was not formally involved, I was just one of the kids who were occasionally given the chance to sing at the end of the programme,’ she laughs. After a few recitals, Sufia Kamal encouraged her to participate in a live radio programme for children. ‘I couldn’t even read then so Sufia khala taught me, and I managed to do my job well.’

The following year, she was signed up as a singer with the radio programme and a year after that, she started singing on PTV. ‘I began to work harder and to contribute my income to my family,’ she recalls. ‘Although I was still only five, I understood the problems. As I was very close to my mother, I understood her pain and that probably made me grow up faster, and made me more understanding.’ However, it was a stressful job for a child of that age. ‘The worst bit was having to wake up when it

was my turn to sing or recite when all I

wanted to do was sleep,’ she smiles ruefully.

But her precocious talent gained her immense popularity and in 1965, she was awarded as the Best Child Singer in erstwhile combined Pakistan.

But everything leading up to her fourteenth birthday loses all significance in light of what happened on the night of August 30, 1971. The family was devastated when Altaf was killed. Remembered chiefly for composing the immortal song – Amar bhaier roktey rangano ekushey February, ami ki bhulite pari as well as his overall contribution to the war of independence, he will always be held warmly in the hearts of Bangladeshis, but none more so than his wife’s younger sister, Shimul.

‘My five brothers had also been captured but they were released when Altaf told the army that no-one in his family had been involved in anything that he had done. But my brothers had seen him before he died on the balcony of the factory in which he was imprisoned. He was tied up and his hands and legs had been broken into pieces. They had slashed his entire body; not a part was left untouched. When the soldiers walked past him, they would stub out their cigarettes on his skin.’ It is almost as if reiterating – reliving – the gruesome details stops her from forgetting the brutality with which he was killed. ‘I have not spoken to a Pakistani since, or been associated with them in any way – and I never will.’

In the years that followed Shimul admits that she suffered a crisis of faith. ‘I couldn’t trust anyone and had it not been for the Dhaka theatre, I would never have carried on in this career. It was the only place where I felt understood. I found that everyone there had a tale like mine, and I suddenly realised that I belonged,’ she says. Although life at the theatre was a struggle, Shimul has fond memories of her time there. ‘We didn’t have the money to travel, so the whole group would go everywhere on foot and get by without eating. I remember, when the bhaiyas used to bring us food, we would devour it in seconds.’

It was also there that Shimul first met Nasir Uddin Yusuf, the now acclaimed film and theatre director and who, after she completed her sociology degree from Dhaka University, would become her husband. ‘Like everything else, I knew I was sure about him – I could not have married anyone else because he is probably the only person who really understands me.’

The couple have two daughters – Shaon and Esha. When I meet her, Shaon tells me that Esha, who is studying Film and Television at MediaCom in Thailand, had come all the way back to Dhaka to surprise their mother on her birthday. It is not until much later that Shaon tells me that she is, in fact, Altaf’s daughter. ‘I promised him I would take care of her,’ says Shimul softly.

As more and more visitors pour in to wish her happy birthday, our interview comes to an end. That evening Shimul is appearing in the show Binodini. ‘What better way to celebrate my fiftieth?’ she laughs.

Her stage presence is mesmerising and flawless and she seems to have even more energy and passion than ever. ‘Of course I want to continue my work; I still have so much to learn, and the fact that audiences today seem to prefer talent over mere celebrity is encouraging,’ she adds.

http://www.newagebd.com/2007/mar/23/mar23/xtra_inner2.html

When silence speaks

Master of theatrical illusion, the internationally recognised mime artist Partha Pratim Mazumder speaks of his childhood, three decades of career and the ability to make differences through the art of silent gestures, in a rare interview with Tahmina Shafique

photo by Andrew Biraj

In the winter morning, as he walked through the narrow roads of Baghdhuli village, memories of his father flashed before his eyes, time and again. Having lived more than twenty-seven years abroad, these roads still look familiar and the air that he breathes remind him, that he is home.

‘My friend and I went to the interior village near Pansha and walked a great deal. At one point, we stopped by a tea stall where a man covered with a muffler looked on at me,’ he tells me, as his eyes twinkle with a hint of pride. ‘“You are the famous artist aren’t you? You are Partho Pratim” he uttered ecstatically and I hold that moment close to my heart. This is my achievement in more than three decades of career, that people remember me, even when I have been away from home for so long,’ he says silently.

He has been the laureate of silence- his white face, striped jumper and unique and real-life expressions changed modern theatre and the concept of mime in Bangladesh and with passage of time, inspired a generation of performers across the world. Indeed, when we speak of the legendary artist Partha Pratim Muzumder, we can say with certainty that there has been no one like him across South Asia and he remains to be irreplaceable.

Having lived twenty-seven years in Paris, and moving on to become an internationally lauded mime artist, this past week, as Partha sits by the window of his friend’s apartment in Dhaka, he tells me about his regrets, about his life as a mime artist and his wish to make a difference.

In a career that began at the age of 15, Partha has performed in Europe, America, Asia and beyond. In France, the birthplace of mime, he has performed solo in more than hundred shows. The winner of titles such as ‘Master of Mime’ (by the Jogesh Mime Academy in India) and ‘Master of the World’ (awarded by Malaysia) and many more, Partha feels his struggles and achievements are yet to end. ‘I continue to struggle and learn more each day,’ he tells me.

There is an unmistakable hint of energy and enthusiasm in his eyes, his gestures and the way he talks. He seems to live each moment to the fullest and strikes up a great conversation with almost anyone. And I was no exception, in this case.

It’s around 11.30 in the morning and he is in a rush to go to the workshop where he is taking classes for the next twenty days. In the middle of all this, he does not fail to smile and greet me.

He tells me his childhood was full of colours and festivities. Born on January 18, 1954 in Pabna, Partha had indeed spent a lively childhood- in festivities and events, where his father Himangshu Kumar Biswas, a photojournalist, used to take him.

‘Some of the best memories of my childhood were spent watching cinemas, sitting on a chair by the projector. I loved the screen as it seemed to portray dreams and so much more,’ he says. ‘Moreover dances in different festivals fascinated me beyond words and I use to try to capture their moves.’

While he indulged himself in music, his sense in rhythm and physical movements only sharpened through keen observations. ‘I would imitate little things I would see- an old man, a clown and the films I watched. So soon, the table in our house would become the stage and we siblings would perform these random plays,’ he laughs.

Later, besides being enrolled in Dhaka Music College, a prestigious institute of that time, he also learnt mime craft from Jogesh Dutta of Calcutta. ‘It was during that time that I was adopted by Ustad Barin Majumder, who was a relative and who had recently lost his daughter.’ While being with a new family, Partha was further introduced to the world of art. ‘My passion only increased and I would practice in the indoor stage of the Music school for hours.’

And so started mime, he tells me. By 1974, Partha was known was all across the country through the various shows he performed. In 1975, his first solo performance was seen in LalKuthhi auditorium. Later he performed a number of times at the Shilpakala Academy. His gestures and smooth movements and ability to convey social messages touched hearts of many.

Partha’s stories of struggle remain to be awe-inspiring. ‘I had chosen the less travelled road after all,’ he tells me. ‘It was a challenge throughout my career to keep the audience to an art that is so limited and fast dying. It was certainly not a profession everyone else wanted me to pursue. Moreover, there was little scope and little financial support in this area.’

As Partha appeared on Bangladesh Television through adverts and programs, he became a celebrated artist. ‘I performed countless dramas in Dhaka University, medical colleges and many other institutes, most often conveying social issues and messages that remain unspoken.’

Finally after his production in Alliance Francaise, the French Ambassador invited him to hold workshops there and he began to grow a French connection- a nation where mime has lived through for the longest period.

His turning point came, when the French Ambassador asked offered him a three-year scholarship in Paris to pursue his career through training at a mime school. ‘Right when a huge door of opportunity opened up for me, I realised that I was not being supported by the government of my own home, my country. All that I required was a certificate that needed to be signed that I am allowed go abroad and it took me two years to have that. Those were perhaps my most difficult times,’ he says ruefully.

‘I continued mime nonetheless, as by then it had not only become a part of me but a part of my life and existence,’ he says.

‘Paris was an experience,’ he tells me. He attended the school of Etienne Decroux, the founder of corporal mime

and later he worked with world’s greatest mime Marcel Marceau. ‘Marcel was a legend and he inspired me greatly. It’s still hard to believe that a man like him considered me to be like his son and there were so many nights in Paris that he would come by at my hostel and have dinner with me,’ he says, the pangs of nostalgia only too visible in his eyes.

After Partha completed his course, Marcel asked him to stay back and work on a project that incorporated elements of Indian dancing and culture into modern mime and enrich it further. They co-authored the thesis ‘Oriental and Occidental Mime’ which now occupies a prominent place in mime literature. In the process of this research, Partho went on to perform in great stages in England, Belgium, Germany, Italy, Spain and many other countries across the globe.

By 1990, Partha started his own mime school in Bretagne, and taught deaf and dumb children. In the process of his work, he added new dimensions to this art and learnt the beauty of being able to make a difference through silence. ‘When words cannot do justice, it is this art that can hold strong,’ he says proudly.

Partha wrote and choreographed a mimodrama, in a record time of two months, which was staged in Bangladesh in 1994. This was achieved with the collaboration of different group theatres and professional dancers from Dhaka. The mimodrama concerning child abuse was the first of its kind to be shown on South East Asian stages.

Back in Paris, Partho is also a proud father of two children who are involved in art and music greatly. ‘They love Bangladesh and they know, back here, it’s always home.’

When Marcel died in 2007, the mime world was threatened by the risk of not being able to survive, and in that difficult time, Partha was one of the artists who refused to give up. ‘Marcel had instilled within me so much inspiration and determination that I could never let him down,’ he says silently.

As Partha rushes to the workshop, he tells me enthusiastically about the young men and women he has come across here. ‘There are so many talents back home. There is so much potential to bring back mime to life. Children here do not have any form of entertainment and many are introverted. This art is not just for entertainment, but also for being able to open up, ’he explains.

When I ask him about his future plans, he tells me that the journey has not ended yet and as long as he breathes, the art will live through.

Currently Partha is in the process of creating a new episode on the theme of environmental pollution. The mime maestro is currently in town upon an invitation of Bangladesh Lung Foundation to perform at the 1st International Conference on Lung Health (to be held from February 20 to 22 at the Bangladesh China Friendship Conference Centre). Moreover, Partha will conduct several workshops on mime for theatre actors and models through out the weeks.

http://www.newagebd.com/2008/feb/15/feb15/xtra_inner2.html

‘My pictures are inside me, waiting to come out’

Celebrated photographer, Morten Krogvold speaks of his memories of sweeping the floors of a gallery he longed to be showcased at, the moments of rejection and success, his passion for art and his life as a photographer, in an interview with Tahmina Shafique

Photos by Momena Jalil

If the biography of photographer Morten Krogvold were written, there would be little space in it for the exclusive nature of his still-life images, his powerful portraits and the fame he has achieved, all around the world. Instead, it would be full of stories that belong in the domain of fiction.

It would be the story of struggle and zeal. It would be the story of a seven-year-old boy who spent three years in a hospital room, owing to a severe hip injury. It would be the story of being rejected and yet never giving in. Of a 19-year-old, who worked as a helper, bringing in coffee and sweeping the floors of the Institute of Norwegian Film Board and often longing to be one of the photographers showcased on its walls. It would be about sleepless nights of hard work and learning through mistakes. It would be the story of his passion and association with all forms of art—poetry, music, painting, and above all photography.

This past week, in the middle of the political chaos and blockades, as I walked into Pathshala, the Dhaka-based South Asian Institute of Photography, there were a bunch of students laughing and chatting with a lively and cheerful looking man in his mid 50’s. The most fascinating thing about him was perhaps, the warmth he conveyed through his simple smile and undoubtedly, his gregarious personality and spirit. He is no ordinary man; he is Morten Krogvold, Norway’s leading ambassador of photography and a legendary name across the globe. His photographs, primarily his dynamic portraits, have been celebrated and exhibited throughout the world, including USA, Canada, France, China, Sweden, Iceland, Botswana and, of course, Norway.

Morten, as in the previous years, is here in Dhaka to display his photographs at Chobi Mela, Bangladesh’s premiere international photography festival and to conduct workshops. ‘Being a part of Morten’s workshop is a different kind of experience. You are bound to fall in love with him. He is an inspiration, someone who does not order rather shares,’ says photographer and colleague Momena Jalil, an ex-student and now, a teacher at Pathshala. ‘He makes you think and question. It’s amazing how he assembles the different forms of art with photography. Most importantly, he tells you about life and the mind, which he says is intertwined with photography.’

Indeed, his workshops are the most awaited event for countless students across the world. It’s the intensity and passion that he carries with him in his workshops in USA, China, South Africa, England, Qatar, Greece, Italy, Germany, Bangladesh and many more, that has marked him, as an extraordinary speaker. His students tell me he is restless, questioning, lively and impossible to ignore or be indifferent to.

Our meeting amidst the chaos and activities for the workshop he is conducting, was unhurried, and yet full of energy.

At the age of seven, while other children of his age went to school and enjoyed life to the fullest, Morten spent days and in fact three years, in the gloomy hospital room, owing to the hip injury which had crippled him. ‘My brain did not support my hips, it was a complex case which could not be healed in those days,’ says Morten. He remains silent for a moment, perhaps remembering the most difficult times of his life as a child.

‘Since I couldn’t go to school, I didn’t know how to read or write. My father would then bring me books of pictures and images, which would be my only source of recreation.’ It was perhaps then, that he grew an innate passion for photographs and most importantly, the human face. After the three dreadful years in the hospital, Morten went back to school at the age of eleven. I ask him inquisitively, ‘did you like it?’

‘I hated it, I just hated it and wanted to get away from there so badly,’ he says, imitating a child, who hates school. ‘Horrible.’

According to Morten, his association with art has made him a better photographer. ‘They are distinct artistic media, sharing a common objective—turning a piece of creative work into an experience’. Perhaps, that is what sets him apart from others: his passion for art. While his father was not at all into art, his mother was an amateur pianist, which brought Morten closer to music. It was during those terrible school years, that Morten read poetry, studying painting and music alongside. In fact, he learnt the violin and had bright prospects in the field.

‘But it was time I chose one, photography or music, and photography stood out as a career.’

Why not music?

‘Perhaps the lack of possibilities in that field,’ he adds ruefully. ‘But, I still love music. Time seems to stand still when I listen to music- Mozart, Bach…and the list will go on,’ he says smiling.

At 17, Morten had his own dark room where he experimented with photography. ‘And trust me, they were horrible,’ he chuckles. Soon, he got a job at the ‘Institute of Norwegian Film’ as a helper. ‘I would clean up the place and serve coffee and observe the different kinds of people coming to have their portraits done — architects, actors, painters, scientists and all kinds of artistic people. I would finish my work early and try to learn from the people who worked there. I must say it was a unique opportunity for someone as young as me.’ But the best was yet to come.

As time passed, Morten learnt more about photography. ‘I would spend nights in the studio and I must say, those were the best times of my life’. The turning point of his life came, when the famous Polish scientist, Jieremy Sasientinsi, joined the Norwegian Film Board. ‘The photographer who was supposed to take his portrait fell ill, and I was asked to take his picture. That paid off all my hard work’.

Indeed, that single exclusive portrait marked a great significance in his career. ‘Later when the scientist died, the government ordered for that portrait to be put up,’ he adds. It was then, that his ascent began.

Morten booked a studio and started working with his subjects, either portraits or still life images for hours. His unique work through interview and photo sessions with well known faces including actors, directors, writers, painter etc in Norway and abroad, resulted in ‘Images’, a book that features a compilation of his early work.

‘The greatest moments of my life as a photographer has been in the studio; late in the evening, in a darkened room with a couple of subdued light sources, a camera, two people and some music,’ says Morten.

It is perhaps his compelling and lively personality that forms images that speak for themselves. He does so through the use of natural background, the dark room, producing a portrait that not only shows the person or the object, but also exposes the inner being. Morten has also produced powerful works of art such as images of death, the essence of optimism and joy despite the difficult life in Africa and much more. Besides the publication of countless photography books, he has made 16 cultural television programmes presented by the Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation. Among the many other honours, he has been awarded ‘Knight of the First Class’ of the Norwegian Royal Order of St.Olav.

Morten tells me about his recent work. ‘It is in many ways a repetition, yet different. I have been given the project of doing the same work of portraits with young faces,’ he says. ‘Only this time, they are coming to me because I am famous, unlike before when I approached people who didn’t know me, yet gave me a chance,’ he laughs. I ask him which one he prefers more, he remains silent more a moment, and says ‘the first one, because it was more challenging and I was hungry to explore, although I still am but that would be more special’.

Morten speaks of his earlier experiences much more than the present ones. It’s evident, that, in many ways, he loved the struggle, the challenge of breaking boundaries to capture many images. This is his fifth visit to Bangladesh and he tells me that he adores the fact that people love to be photographed. ‘I think the country has bright prospects in terms of everything. Most importantly it has a bunch of vibrant and keen photographers, who will leave a mark in the world of photography.’

He can’t seem to stop laughing when he tells me about his experience in Dublin. In many ways it was a challenge for him to break his single barrier to success, the lack of confidence. ‘I was so nervous. I didn’t know the people or the place. It was then that I challenged my self to go and approach people. The most challenging was however, knocking on people’s door and asking them to let me photograph them!’ he says. ‘…And there were people who asked me to buzz off but I thought it was not all that bad, so I pushed on and as a result met a diverse bunch of people’.

The man who has conducted countless workshops all around the world, tells me about his struggle to speak before a large audience. ‘I still remember the first time I had to speak before a large audience, in New York. And, they told me that just five minutes before I was due on stage!’ he says, excitedly. ‘I could feel my knees shaking, but about fifteen minutes later, I went with the flow and thus came a list of workshop invitations.’

With Morten, stories alone could be his stock in trade. His experiences and adventures from his many journeys, from various tasks and meeting different kind of people in all continents almost have another-worldly feel to them. He tells me exciting stories of being soaked with water and soap and going to photograph the President of Iceland, the tales of photographing people dying of AIDS and cancer and his projects, his experiences in Africa, his time in Italy.

Anything more about photographs? He tells me smiling, ‘they are inside, waiting to come out at all times. They are responsible for the restlessness that drives me to different places and different images. Most people think it’s the camera that does the wonder, but it’s the mind and the soul’. His eyes sparkle with warmth and passion. ‘Remember, if you are taking a photograph for love then don’t use the flash, it’s the natural essence that expresses the true image’.