Letter to a daughter departing

Dear Daughter,
You may not read this letter as you will be gone and settling down in your new environs  by the time it's published. It's not just a new place to stay and study but almost a new beginning in a land far away. For the first time you will be entirely on your own. I know it takes a touch of grit to face that and there will be several concerns and challenges on your mind. But of course like all your previous ones, you will overcome them and come out a winner. Meanwhile, worrying about you will become my full time business. That's OK,  that is my job. I am your dad.

* * *

I remember waiting outside the operation theatre when your mother was inside and then hearing, " You have a daughter." The first thing that came to my mind was " One day she will grow up and get married and move away." Very selfish I know but that's how my mind works. We fathers can be a possessive lot. But as the news sank in I realised how in seconds my whole life had changed. I am not sure who gave birth to whom because we both seemed to have stepped into a new world at the same time.

To be honest, the impact of your birth can only be compared to the speech of Yahya Khan after the March 26 crackdown. All Bangladeshis changed after that and there was no turning back.  Sorry about the comparison but I was looking for a life-changer event in my life to give a sense of what your birth meant to me.

* * *

I don't take too well to separation from people so when the time came for you to move towards higher education, we literally all moved to Canada just to make sure we could give an opportunity to you to go to high school + undergrad education there and also be there with you. Life in Toronto was pleasant, difficult, culturally shocking, relaxed but disempowering but you overcame all that and though at times it nearly broke us, we didn't and nor did you. You graduated with the best possible result and then you said you wanted to go back to Bangladesh. And here we all are, back in Bangladesh. And for me, I am having the time of my life.

* * *

Do we look like each other? I don't know but at least you don't have a beard. Yet in your mentality and attitude, fears and anxieties, rage and rhetoric — I clearly find that you are my daughter.

It was a shock to discover you addressing a Bengali community meeting in Toronto where you so forcefully spoke out against our own racism. It was a display of the same outspoken speech that I may have given sometime in my past. Thanks for showing me how I looked many years ago. You stood up and declared your position. And you were saying, 'I am not compromising on what I think." I was so proud of you.

* * *

When I attended your anti-racism workshops in Toronto, held in some of the more beautiful woods located right inside the city, I was proud too. Proud because, you were taking on the establishment, establishing your identity and doing so without letting career prospects affect your decision. Not many Bangladeshis want to do this because it means at some point contesting the powers that be but it was obvious that the cause mattered immensely to you. In fact, you seemed heavily into community work at various levels, and even got awards and certificates to show for that. But you were only beginning a journey.

* * *

I remember the night's journey through the deserted Shat Masjid Road with you wrapped in your mother's arms and my pockets full of chipped bricks to drive away midnight dogs as we ran to a clinic as your temperature wouldn't come down from 106. What a night that was as we soaked and rubbed and did everything else to bring the fever down. But by the next evening, it was down, the infection was gone and you pissed in your doctor's chair and smiling looked at everyone expecting full approval and applause for your act. There were many such days and nights of anxieties, but after all these years only the happiness of the memories remain.

* * *

When I read your BA thesis, it was a surprise that the critique begins with an analysis of what the Mohammedpur Bihari slums represent to those who see it but don't live there. Of course, your arguments are excellent but that you could connect this Bangladeshi issue with the problems of representation and exclusion in the Western mind is what impressed me, made me feel that your sense of empathy is deep and this is who you are.

* * *

In that case, hang on to it. This is the defining part of your personality and being. You are going to study Critical Disability so you shall be dealing with a very complex issue which is only now gaining recognition in our societies. You work defines you. And because autism is not understood well, most autistic person sufferers a lot due to ignorance of others. You have many responsibilities to change that. You have to play your role in ensuring that disability is a matter of concern not stigma, that autism coping facilities are better and society in general behaves much better. It means you should/ must come back again.

* * *

We want you to come back because like so many highly qualified young people you have obligations to the land of your birth. I do believe in leading a life which is about discharging obligations towards  family, society and the country. You owe it to those who suffer to make it less painful, to be part of a new movement to create better facilities for the disadvantaged and use the best skills possible for those who get so little. A life not lived for others is a vapid useless life. That life is not yours. You have also not been westernized and this makes you different from many who are nationally Bangladeshi but not culturally so. You can connect and relate. That's why I make this case for returning and spending a lifetime helping others.

* * *

But most importantly I want you to be near me. Au revoir, daughter mine.

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Afsan Chowdhury is a journalist, activist and writer.