Dear Moderator: I only read this book recently, and I am not sure if any one discussed it on mukto-mona site. In case not, perhaps this could be posted. Thanks – Mohsin Siddique.
A Book Review: Agunmukhar Meye (Memoir) by Nurjahan Bose; Ananda Publishers, Kolkata, India, 2011; Rs. 300.00
There is something to be said about the urge to run out and buy a book that just came out and devour it in shortest few sittings, especially when the author is someone you are familiarity with and have the inkling that she/he might have lived an interesting life. I came to know about Nurjahan Bose’s autobiography when I happen to read its review in the daily Prothom Alo after the book was first published in Dhaka in 2009. Finally I got a copy of the book through the generosity of the author. She assured me that I could write freely about it, if I so choose and she would still invite me to the annual fundraising dinner for Samhati! It is a very successful organization supporting women in Bangladesh she created many years ago and is still very involved with. I have known Nurjahan and Shwdesh Bose for over 30-years, but mostly socially. I have heard Shwdesh Da’s name in progressive circles in Dhaka in the 60s of the last century, and obviously, about Nurjahan Bose as well. In her case, if I recall correctly, the defiance of the ‘norm’ implied in a Muslim women married to a Hindu revolutionary, especially in the dark days of the 1950s, made her a cause célèbre to us. Emadullah, along with such legendary revolutionaries as Ila Mitra, Moni Singh, at al, belonged to a group of comrades, whose dedication to the communist movement in the brutally oppressive East Pakistan, that was of great veneration to us, romantic youngster entering the radical movement in the 1960s.
Reading the book, I was fascinated by the complexity of the life she had lived in spite of the outwardly appearance of being an ‘ordinary woman’, seemingly assigned to the traditional role set aside for most of the human females of her generation and especially of her national background. But what I admire most about the book is the author’s courage to reveal the private joys and darkness that resides in the interstices of life even in the remotest hamlet such as Katakhali, her ancestral village (takes over 30-hours to get to from capital Dhaka!). Especially remarkable is the frankness with which she describes the betrayal of some of the adults she trusted (e.g., attempted rape by a ‘grandfather’ when she was a young girl), justification of their lust-induced predatory behavior towards helpless female victims, always rationalized by this or that verse of the Koran! It is depressing to think that throughout her adult life, often many who were her closest, ignored the fact that she was an intelligent (note her excellent academic achievements within the limitations of opportunities) human being, routinely practiced among Bengali Bhodrolok (recall how the two sexes are invariably segregated in social gatherings even today). To most of the gents from this part of the world, women, however educated and accomplished they are, never seem to be worthy of the common courtesy of engaging in an intelligent conversation; their much vaunted intellectualism & progressivism seem to be confined among their own gender; I suppose women are just to be impressed from the side! A simple measure of being progressive is the extent a man is willing to accept a woman’s freedom. It is shocking to note how limited both her first husband Comrade Emadullah and her second, (one time) Comrade Bose were in this respect! These were not evil people: both emerge from the book as loving, caring, generous and brave human beings, yet prisoners of the times and cultures they belonged to, as most of us are.
The book is multidimensional in that it carries vivid imprints of the times of transition she has lived through. For example she poignantly describes how painful it was for her little daughter who was
forbidden from telling her friends the real name of her father, because he was a Hindu, living in a communal hatred infused environment in Karachi, Pakistan in the 1960s. Her struggle to be accepted by the Hindu members of her family is no less telling of the times, of hypocrisies people live with and sufferings that cause, to which they are often oblivious.
The disturbing and glaring shortcoming of the book is that given the cast of characters’ involved and the turbulent progressive political milieu in which they were immersed, there is very little in it about what was going on in that world. She herself was recruited in the Communist Party (CP) at a very young age: how was a teenage Muslim girl from a remote island-village influenced by Marxism-Leninism? What made her join the Party? Both Emadullah and Swadesh Bose were leading activists in the Youth League, a mass-organization of the CP, and both suffered long periods of imprisonment for their political convictions and activism. I would have liked to read about their and the CP’s work in those days from someone who knew them so closely. I would have liked to know what made Swadesh Da change his view of Communism, dedication to which in his youth changed the direction his life took later. After 1971 Liberation War, I had long debates with him while he tried to convince me that I should give up the notions of socialism in Bangladesh and should support Awami League unconditionally. And this was from a man who was left out by Awami League from Bangladesh’s first Planning Commission, an omission that caused him a great deal of sadness. I would really want to know why the Communist Party expelled Emadullah and Nurjan because (?) they got married! Really! What monstrosity! I know all of this would have increased the volume of the book beyond the publisher’s comfort zone. Perhaps the author would follow up with a follow-up?
Her style of writing is straightforward narration with not much flourish, and is surprisingly unsentimental. There is very little mythologizing of any of the characters in her life, and is refreshing that way. Once started, I had to finish it without interspersing with other reading material.
A liberal sprit in the truest sense, a feminist in the best tradition, and a humanist, to make the package complete, she tackles a wide range of unpleasant experiences, and is at times self critical, full of empathy when deserving, but never compromising or unforgiving when treated unjustly. Yet, she writes differently than many others who have confronted the bitter truths about their lives in societies under brutal sway of religious primitivism, fascist male hegemony, rampant social and economic gender discrimination, and unspeakable sexual repression of women. Unlike, say, Taslima Nasrin, she is never deliberately provocative: she is a great deal more restrained, less denunciatory, perhaps attributable to her generational attitude – I say so, because in real-life encounter she is quite capable of telling you off if given cause! An autobiography is supposed to be revelation of who the person is: what emerges from the book, above all, would not surprise people who are familiar with her: she is a strong woman.
Since witnessing the birth of my son, I have maintained that all males should witness what struggle, pain & risk women undergo in that process (and for the same reason, no young women should, because they might decide to forgo child bearing and thereby hasten the demise of the species, already doomed by many of its other follies). I say to all, especially the men, read the book! You may not like what you encounter in it; and that is precisely why it should be read.