Rabbee Spirit of 1971

A Memoir of Dr. Mohammed Fazle Rabbee and Dr. Jahan Ara Rabbee
1. Auflage 2021
ISBN: 978-1-7320993-0-2
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 298 Seiten

In the 1960s, East Pakistan was a thriving, growing culture, aspiring to greatness, with Nusrat Rabbee's parents, Dr. Mohammed Fazle Rabbee and Dr. Jahan Ara Rabbee, leading the way. Each at the top of their medical careers, the Rabbees were pillars of the society and trusted advisors to neighbors, family, and friends. Then, in December of 1970, an election turned sour brought continued Martial Law to the land and a situation that crippled the progressive East Pakistani people from thriving in every way, especially economically. Over the course of nine terrifying months, East Pakistan fell under attack from the Pakistani army, who attempted to take away their cultural, moral, and professional leadership all at once. It would take unimaginable destruction and countless deaths, including that of Dr. Nusrat Rabbee's beloved father, for the East Pakistani people to once regain their footing. After the fallout, and for the next several decades, Bangladesh has grown to become a mecca of growth and progress, though Dr. Rabbee reminds readers to not forget the sacrifices and strides made by the relentless champions of the first few decades, the martyrs for the cause of a free Bangladesh, and those few dedicated and educated leaders in every sector, who built the infrastructure and backbone from scratch. In this captivating account of 1971 and beyond, Dr. Rabbee provides readers with a firsthand account of the events that shaped her childhood and which sparked the birth of a nation. Through the lens of a poignant family story, she provides a deeply personal inside look at the violence, unrest, and aftermath of the war. Part memoir, part love story, and part historical text, The Spirit of 1971 gives deep insight and understanding into the history, ancestry, and heritage of country of Bangladesh, and is a must-read for anyone interested in the politics of the region during this tumultuous time.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Rabbee, Nusrat

Leseproben

Chapter
1
The Wedding

“You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth,” my mother once said to me.

I was the product of Dr. Mohammed Fazle Rabbee and Dr. Jahan Ara Rabbee, their second offspring together and their first child of theirs to be delivered in the hospital. The obstetrician was Dr. Zohra Kazi,2 the first female Bengali physician and the head of the OB/GYN department of the Dacca Medical College (DMC).

Both my parents had graduated with medical degrees from DMC. My father earned post-graduate degrees in internal medicine and cardiology in London while my mother worked as a medical officer at the DMC. By the time I came along, their careers were flourishing and they had rented two adjoining apartments in Sobhanbagh for their growing family.

This story is about my parents, their lives, and their love story, and also about the decades and events that led to the 1971 genocide of our people, and the decade that followed. My parents were nation builders with their pursuit of excellence, defiance of the limits put on them, and their bravery in standing up to the tyranny of the government at that time. They infused the unique values of excellence, integrity, public service, and cultural pride into a new nation of South Asia and the world.

The purpose of their lives has to be understood in the broader scheme of the history of Bangladesh. Their love story was a unique product of that time and place. We, who came after them, stand on the shoulders of these brave pioneers, whose ambition and courage led them to scale remarkable heights.

Some people on earth have more than their fair share of hardship. My mother was one of them. Women and men of her generation in former East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) were destined to shoulder a heavy burden so our generation could have easier lives. My mother was born of Mr. Abdur Razzaque and Mrs. Shamsun Nahar, who resided at 44 Abdul Hadi Lane in Old Dacca. My grandmother’s family lived in Sonargaon3 and were relatively well off. It is told that my grandmother was seven years old when the wedding was officiated. The bride and groom did not cohabitate until much later, but her father agreed to the marriage because the groom, although not a person of means, was well educated.

My grandfather, Mr. Abdur Razzaque, obtained his bachelor’s degree in Calcutta. Then he travelled to the United Kingdom by ship to obtain a diploma in Education in Edinburgh. Upon his return, he became well known in the teaching profession, writing many textbooks on functional English and English grammar in the late 1940s for students in British India. In fact, books by my Nana, Mr. Razzaque, were recommended as standard English textbooks in the Bengal region of India. He worked up until the late 1950s and retired as the principal of the Teacher’s Training College in East Pakistan.

My maternal grandparents in Dacca,
East Pakistan [1950s]

My parents’ generation lived through three countries without moving their address once: British India, East Pakistan, and finally Bangladesh. I often wondered how they managed to travel with new passports, new citizenhoods, and new national identities three times in a single lifetime.

The bloody partition of India and Pakistan in 1947, during my mother’s childhood, drew the borders on both sides of India. On the East, the area known as Muslim-dominated province of East Bengal became East Pakistan; to the west, the Muslim-dominated provinces of the Northwest frontier, western Punjab and Sindh, became West Pakistan. 4 The two wings of Pakistan were 1200 miles apart and had little in common in geography, culture, or language. The partition was incomplete and irrational—the end of which would play out in another war in 1971.

I am told that the riots in 1947 were so horrid that it was not uncommon to see Muslims killing Hindus and vice versa in my mother’s own neighborhood. People were finally happy to see the unrest end and a new country, Pakistan, born. 5 It took more than one additional year for people to migrate between Pakistan and India, but finally everyone settled down in their respective new countries and free of British rule. But this feeling would not last long in our part of Pakistan in the East.

My grandfather was diligent, patient, mild-mannered, and scholarly. My grandmother was passionate, with a huge heart and indomitable courage. My mother was the third of four daughters. She also had two brothers, Khalil and Mahmud. Each of the children, my aunts and uncles, were educated - a direct result of my grandparents’ efforts and priorities.

My mother was undoubtedly the brightest of the lot and showed great academic promise from childhood, but she was only in high school when she entered into a marriage arranged by her brother-in-law, Mr. Azizul Haq. Mr. Huq was married to my eldest khala,6 Bedoura Begum, and was a conservative career bureaucrat. He was only too happy to encourage my Nani7 to marry her remaining daughters off as they were free-spirited women, like their mother.

The groom chosen for my mother was an established businessman, several years her senior, and the marriage failed soon after it began. A daughter was born, my elder sister Nasreen, but the atmosphere at home was unhappy. My mother, who hated living with the extended family of her husband, could not adjust to the socially conservative values of that household. She was a good student who excelled in the sciences and loved classical dance, none of which was favorably looked upon by that family. (In those times, there were not very many families that encouraged girls to study up to graduation from high school, and certainly not beyond.)

My mother wanted a divorce but there was no way out without displeasing everyone. She confided in her mother knowing full well that divorce back then, in a Muslim society, was a huge stigma. In fact, her brother-in-law reminded Nani that it was not even legal. What he did not know or could not predict was that my Nana, a mild-mannered academic man, would step in to help my mother. His friend was the judge presiding over the High Court. The Judge wrote up the petition for the divorce. My mother’s successful divorce would later be used as a precedent for divorces initiated by Muslim women in East Pakistan.

Another courageous thing my mother did was to bring my sister to live with her family. This was rare since children of marriages that failed almost always resided with the father’s family. Upon returning home, my grandmother insisted that my mother pursue higher education. Nani took over the job of raising my sister, as she did with other grandchildren, and asked her husband once again to make sure that my mother took all the necessary science courses to pursue her dreams.

The regular math and science classes taught in high school for girls were not advanced enough for university admissions. My grandfather was working at the Teacher’s Training College at the time and he arranged for a bus service to take my mother and a couple of other girls to Dacca8 College very early in the morning where they were taught the special classes required for college admittance.

In 1949, my mother stood first among all females in the tenth grade SSc (secondary school certificate) exams in East Pakistan and obtained the Director of Public Instruction’s scholarship as a result. Two years later, in 1951, she appeared in the twelfth grade HSc (higher secondary school certificate) and stood second among the female candidates, obtaining the same scholarship.

By this time, she had established herself as a scholar with great potential for further training. Hence, after passing these national examinations and acing the advanced courses in Dacca College in science arranged by my grandfather, she had her parents’ blessing to apply to the university. She applied for admission to Dacca University’s (DU) physics department and DMC. Getting admitted to both, she came home and happily declared her new major: physics. She did not forget to bring a bring box of sweets to share the good news with her parents.

My grandmother had other ideas. She was a housewife and matriarch, as well as a practicing midwife. She delivered babies for poor women while her main job was to tend to her own family with six children. My Nani said to my mother, “Jahan Ara, if you want me to support your education or stay in this house, you are going to study medicine.” My mother had no choice, but she never regretted it, as she told me. Nani made it easier for her by paying for her dormitory expenses at the medical college in Dacca.

On the first day of class in 1952, the male students had drawn an elaborate picture of my mother on the blackboard, with the caption, “Will you be mine?” She described it as a...