What I believe
I believe that women are equivalent to men. And further, that all people are created equal, and that they should be judged based on their personality and character, not on what they look like. I learned this and many other things from my free-choice book, which talks about the struggles of everyday people with equality with their race, and their gender.
In the book, Brick Lane by Monica Ali, this vital issue played a major role in the lives of the main characters. Brick Lane is a story centered around a young Bangladeshi girl named Nazneen, who, since birth, has been told that the reason she is alive, is that she has been left to her fate, and has no power over her own life. “So when Rupban [her mother] advised Nazneen to be still in her heart and mind, to accept the Grace of God, to treat life with the same indifference with which it would treat her, she listened closely, with her large head tilted back and her cheeks slack with equanimity.” (4) Even Nazneen’s own mother would not lay a hand on her to make the young baby drink milk, she was simply left to her Fate. Brick Lane is bursting with civil, emotional, and family tension, but is also beautiful in the fact, that although Nazneen is ripped from her village home, she still has the power to preserve her culture by passing it on to her children, and keeping it alive in the culturally-indifferent environment of London in the 80’s.
For my inspiration project I made a sari, using a beautiful pink fabric (a traditional young girl’s sari color in Bangladesh), and decided to learn a little more about Bangladeshi women, and their traditions and daily life. Bangladeshi women traditionally stay at home and do the cleaning and cooking and care for the children. But that has changed in modern times, women now have the choice of staying home or getting a job. One of the biggest conflicts in the story was that of Nazneen’s neighbor and her husband. Nazneen’s neighbor, Razia, also an immigrant from Bangladesh, wished to get a job at a sewing factory, while her traditional husband, wanted her to stay home and perform her womanly duties.
Bangladeshi women are responsible for cooking the family’s meals, which usually consist of rice and dal, a stew made of lentils and beans. They repair and make the families clothes, and care for both their children and their husbands.
A passage in the book that really touched my heart was when Nazneen’s sister’s friend had been accused of adultery. Her husband brutally disfigured her by pouring acid on her. “I see is Monju. I know by right eye alone. Left eye is narrow and stuff come our. Cheek and mouth is melt and ear have gone like dog chew off. I whisper to her but nurse pass by and tell to shout. Hearing is very small now. ‘Monju’ I shout. ‘Monju.’ Is all I can think to say. She say God give them the pain I suffering now…It is her husband who have done this with his brother and sister. Brother and sister hold tight and husband pour acid over head face and body…” (221) It just struck me that I had seen a article about Muslim women who were accused of adultery and had acid thrown on to them by people, sometimes even people they knew and loved, as in this passage. And even a fellow women, had taken part in this. Such cruelty towards women, even though they may be at fault, should not continue to go on. I respect and cherish aspects of every religion, but this is simply a small group of people who are perverting a religion to their own selfish ways.
I have learned from this book that I will never let anything stand in my way to achieving my goals and dreams. Women have fought for equal rights for many, many years. And in our country, women are no longer second-class citizens. Women fought and won their right for suffrage, or the right to vote, on August 26, 1920. I believe this is good progress, being a young woman myself. I understand and empathize with the main character in this book, both in my life and in this book are many representations of this attitude towards women, but I feel great hope in the fact that all over the world, through independent and church-operated organizations, people are helping women in poor countries to improve their quality of life.
Music
Song: Jai Ho- A.Rahman
This really reminded me of my book, because first of all, and probably most apparently the song is about love in it’s purest and truest of forms. At first it may be difficult to find, but if you do find the translation of the song it is basically about love, a heart beating with passion, and living your life like theirs no tomorrow, which I also think correlates with the story of A Midsummer Night’s Dreams. All the lovers of the story are a bit rash and seem to think with their passion and their heart instead of with their higher intellect, but I think that this really gives the story a sort edgyness and fun. This was very apparent in their quick, passion-fueled decision to run into the forest and get married.
I also think that the drums and beat sort of reminds me of the chase between the four lovers, Demetrius, Lysander, Hermia, and Helena. It seems until the very end of the book, when Puck solves the whole love triangle problem with his magic dust, that not all of them will ever be happy with their current romantic standing, whether it’s Hermia being in love with Lysander and having to fight against the will of her father who wishes her to marry Demetrius, or if it’s Helena, following Demetrius, and madly in love. Their love triangle reminds me of a dance between friends and lovers. The song also does have a sort of “dreamy” quality to it, which not only is similar to the name of the book, but also to the sort of “dreamy” scenes and text, when the lovers are in the forest, and when the story revolves around Titania and Oberon’s lair and their fairy dreams.
The title of the song also means “hail!” in Hindi. This sort of reminded me that throughout the book, the recurring theme of royalty in both Oberon and Titania’s kingdom and the Theseus and Hippolyta which is basically the main setting of the play also. I mean without Theseus and Hippolyta’s wedding, none of the story would have happened.
The air of the Orient, fresh and clear
Glides swiftly through the fertile air of May
The Shanghai sun, on Darkest Sea appears
A burning life, awakes and greets this new day
Where is spring, in the flowers or the fields?
In the blossoms of a faint-aired meadow
Perhaps in a slender fawn as she kneels
Or in the crane, gentle neck white as snow
Is spring found in colors, vibrant in hue?
In the pink peachflower, soft and light
In the deep emerald stalks of sturdy bamboo
Or the honeyed voice of an oriole in flight
The treasures of spring, where do they lie?
All in a wandering mortal’s eye
The inspiration behind this sonnet comes from an adorable Chinese children’s song and poem that tells of the coming of spring, and wondering, where is spring represented in nature?
春 天 在 哪 里 呀，春 天 在 哪 里？
春 天 在 哪 青 翠 的 山 林 里，
这 里 有 红 花 呀，这 里 有 绿 草，
还 有 那 会 唱 歌 的 小黄 鹂
The literal translation of this poem is:
Where is spring? Where is spring?
Spring lies in the green woods, with
Red flowers and green grass, and the
Singing little orioles
I think this song is very beautiful and being a first year Chinese student, I really enjoy taking my learning experience to another level, while also studying Chinese culture. Art is very vibrant and mystical in Asia, and also instilled with a great respect for natural and seasonal beauty. One of the most appreciated artistic subjects is of course, the season of spring, a time where fruits and trees are blossoming and life is being revitalized after a cold, and freezing winter. I tried to bring a sense of this into my sonnet by adding many visual representations of a spring in Asia, like the flora and fauna of rural Shanghai, with animals such the slender Central Asian Red Deer and the Red-Crowned Crane and also the beautiful picture of the blossoming peachflower and the representation of strength and the richness of the color of the bamboo. I found that while studying the Chinese language, it was coupled with a very visual and I think beautiful way of thinking. All words, per say, have a visual representation or two, made up of various “radicals” that have different meanings, which tell a sort of story whiles also being understandable and communicatable. The English translation of this song definitely does not do the original justice, so I wanted to write my sonnet and sort of elaborate in a way that paints a picture described by the characters of the song. I used a little bit of what I sort of categorize as “softer” adjectives, or sort of adjectives that communicate and add the sort of fluidness and motion that is seemingly always present in Asian art and even the writing of the character, i.e. calligraphy, which is an art upon itself. As an example words such as light, meadow, and swiftly, bring up mental pictures of the swift bamboo brushstrokes of a seasoned calligrapher. As was the original song, I made the sonnet based upon the question “where is spring?” or rather, what represents the season spring. The first four lines were sort of a prelude to this, talking about the beginning of spring, out of the summer, and how life begins to reawakens after the cold, dark winter, and how it does this so quickly, as a flame that burns away the vestiges of this winter. I ended the sonnet in a way, in which I hoped to encourage thought by the reader about what they truly treasure about the season of spring. I also would want people to realize, as is sort of my motive behind the sonnet, that these “treasures” are not gold, or silver or even jade, for that manner, but that these treasure are actually those of the natural world; pink and white peachblossoms, the spectacle of the Shanghai coastline, and overall the breathtaking beauty of nature.
To First Grade Love
At first, when you hold my hand,
You should probably understand
Even though we’re in first grade
Our love together will never fade
Throughout the perils of recess
You could never do more to impress
Your cheeky, miscreant ways
Made our times together a beautiful daze
We danced and played in the sunshine
You should have know you’d be mine
But as we all grew up and matured
My times with you became unsecured
You moved away to a different school
I heard somewhere that you now think you’re cool
You’ve left this little girl’s heart askew
My good friend Jonah, I miss you!
A Woman Alone
The scene I am about to describe is one that does not outwardly seem of great importance but I believe it is important because the connotations of self-discovery within the main character in it. In this scene, the main character, Nazneen has just seen her husband off to work after realizing only a few days before that she is pregnant with his child. She decides to take a stroll and think for a while and ends up having a great adventure within this short scene. There is no character that she is constant contact with the whole time during her eventful walk so I decided to write a few characters perspective on their short time seeing Nazneen.
The Tattoo Lady.
It was around 9:00, in the morning that is. I was sitting there, like I do everyday. I guess I am a kinda habitual person. I was smoking my morning cigarette and drinking my morning beer, and I see that Indian girl, at least I think she’s Indian, there are a lot of them in my neighborhood, and she was saying good-bye to the ugly old husband of hers. You can see it, y’know; she’s not truly in love. Ha! Listen to me, talking about true love. As if the world worked that way. As if life could be meaningful. No, life is short and cruel and worthless, and so that was how I lived my youth. Now I’m old, and poor, and I sit here everyday and think about how much life sucks. It’s pretty hilarious how everyone tries so hard, especially that Indian girl, faking it for her big fat husband. Right now she’s waving at me. I’ve never actually talked to her, I don’t even think she speaks English. I tip my beer can at her and she smiles and starts to walk out of the apartment building we live in, looking straight ahead, Ignoring those jerky, teenage, Indian hoodlums that hang out by the stairwell as they talk loudly and stare at her. What buttheads. They’ll probably end up like me someday, sad and alone. But the Indian girl, she’s headed somewhere.
The Man in The Suit
I’m Late. I thought. I’m late and it’s the biggest meeting of the business quarter. My steps quickened, but the mass of people walking down the street made it seem impossible to move forward any faster than then the pace I was currently going. Stupid taxi. Dropping me off two stupid blocks away from the Morgan and Morgan headquarters. Not only that, but my new suit was now wrinkled and linty from the disgusting cab. I shook my head. There was no way I could break through the traffic-like flow of people. It was like a river of grey and black and blue; the colors of the corporate world. All of a sudden I saw a strange color up ahead, a frantic pink fish darting about awkwardly against the flow of the dark river. As I walked closer I saw that it was an Indian, or perhaps Bangladeshi woman in a pink sari. She looked more than out of place; it was as if the buildings and the street itself were rejecting her. Strangely though, no one seemed to notice her. No one looked at her. Perhaps it was because she was so strange that no one wanted to question her with a quizzical look, or perhaps it was simply because all the people in the street were engrossed with their own individual missions that they could not spare a second of their time to watch the wide eyed woman staggering down the street. Well if no one else is looking at her, why should I? If they don’t find it strange, why should I? These questions popped up in my mind, as I stared straight at her. She was standing in the middle of the busy street, parting the flow of people, and looking up a big-marble office building with awe. How different must her life be that simply to see a building such as this would evoke such emotion? I stared at the building. The Office of Staney-Simson Inc. I was suddenly reminded of my meeting I was now 8 minuets late to. Simply seeing this young woman had taken up at least 6 minuets of my valuable moneymaking time. How dare she. I blew out air in a puff of anger, and headed down the street at an even brisker pace. No stranger should be more important than my own business. It was a strange little occurrence in my day, but nothing more.
I decided to tell the stories of these two people (the tattoo lady, and the business man) not because of any relationship with the main character, Nazneen, which they really didn’t have, but because of the different ways they saw her and she saw them. To Nazneen, the tattoo lady is a curiosity. “The tattoo lady was still in her nightdress. From the stump of her cigarette she lit a fresh one, keeping the sacred flame alight. She was fat like a baby. Her arms were ringed with flesh and her hands seem tiny. This woman was poor and fat. To Nazneen it was unfathomable. In Bangladesh it was no more possible to be both poor and fat than to be rich and starving.” (37) Not only is she a curiosity to Nazneen, she also is very different and make Nazneen aware of differences between her homeland and this new society. With the businessman it is much the same. As Nazneen takes an unpremeditated stroll through London, she finds herself in the financial district and says this about it. “The building was without end. Above, somewhere, it crushed the clouds. The next building and the one opposite were white stone palaces. There were steps up to the entrances and colonnades across the front. Men in dark suits trotted briskly up and down the steps…Every person who brushed past her on the pavement, every back she saw, was on a private, urgent mission to execute a precise and demanding plan: to get a promotion today, to be exactly on time for an appointment…”(39). I decided to write the story through one of these people’s eyes.
