Standing on the shoulders of our moms: love u, maa!
As the eldest daughter, I often get to listen to different perspectives on the same story from different family members. It has now extended to a larger family, and I kept listening….
Yes, it's about the story of a couple living in the little graduate student housing in Fargo. Long ago. A story vividly written by my father. As a reader, I can see him living with my mom, both in love, as the story tells us. One day, there was a misunderstanding, and my young mom (just 19 then) left the house angrily, called up to file a divorce. My father was devastated. I was reading this far of the story, feeling glad that my mom returned home with teary eyes and they lived happily ever after (with a limited time frame).
Hmm, I see why many readers would feel sad to hear the reality where my mom was left out of the house without a key or any way to get in. When I went to see her after she shared her story publicly, she told me, “nova, since that day, I have always had an extra key in my pocket.” No, no — that’s not the picture we imagined in that love story. It looks too real, too scary. Similar to a story of my friend, who was kicked out when she was pregnant, or the other friend who called me up to say her jaw was dislocated after being beaten up, or the story of that little girl who watches her mother being beaten up without being able to do anything. That love story looks like an ordinary story of many Bangladeshi households. And as we grew up reading these stories, we have visited that house many times in our imagination, and that house was free from domestic violence. I get the perspective when someone is upset as a reader, as a fan of beloved writer Humayun Ahmed, how can we not love such a nice story?
I get my mom’s perspective, who wishes to show that there was a door out; she missed it being young. But there is one — even when it looks hard to reach, there is a fear of what others would think or do. She could sugarcoat her version of the story, hide the real characters in the story, but she did not. She went on with the plain and simple sharing of what happened, through the eyes of her 19-year-old self. I wish I were there — I could at least listen to you then. I feel so sorry for that 19-year-old version of yours, and the little girl who stays in you with that trauma. I totally understand how you felt, what you shared (although I am not a big fan of sharing such personal feelings over social media publicly), but we all have our own ways of doing things.
Oh yes, there is another perspective that thinks my mom shared her story to get public attention. I can see that perspective, especially when the story is shared publicly, also shared in a newspaper with consent. If that attention is deliberate, maa you have made the best use of that attention to get an important message out. Salute. If others think the motive is deeper, I couldn’t get that aspect since I live in a much shallower space :)
Finally, there is the deep sorrow that some are carrying, thinking that it’s not fair to talk about my father’s deeds since he is not here anymore. I understand that, and I think he would be liberated if my mom’s sorrows evaporate once she shares them. As his daughter, I am seeking forgiveness from you maa. I, like many other readers, hope that the story after you returned home to that little house in Fargo, ended with love and care. If it was ot there, I would fill that up in my imagination for now. And I hope you get all the love you deserve from us and many others who were too scared to agree with you, but have you in their thoughts.
I am so proud of you maa. We have come so far standing on the shoulders of strong women like you — you have no idea what you have done.
love
