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.
The book Brick Lane by Monica Ali, is a powerful and beautifully written story about a young Bangladeshi girl named Nazneen, who leaves her homeland to live with a man she has never before met in London. The book has many powerful characters, including Nazneen herself that assist in the telling and diversifying of the story and provide ideas and theme. The character of Nazneen sort of represents, so far in the story, a strong-willed woman, true to her heritage and religion, who has sacrificed much in order to please her family and her God. She labors in the house, for her husband and for their child, even if she is perhaps feeling tired or sick. She is a martyr of sorts. This however, is greatly contrasted by her sister, Hasina, who’s rare breathtaking beauty had doomed her to a life in which she married for love and destroyed her families reputation and relationships with her, except for Nazneen of course. She writes to Hasina constantly, using her as a sort of escape to better times when they’d play together in their old village, without a care in the world. Hasina stands for this freedom, this happy playful life that Nazneen no longer knows, as she is bound to her responsibilities for her husband and child. Another character that seems to represent a theme in the story is Chanu, her husband she was arranged to. He is in many ways very different from her. He lives in the past and the future, regretting decisions everyday and longing for goals in the future. Nazneen lives in the moment. Chanu is very modern, and speaks English and wishes to live in new land of England. This difference from Nazneen to her new life, which can be represented as Chanu, is also a theme. The character of Nazneen's little baby Raqib also represents a theme in the book. Raqib, to Nazneen, represents innocence, and the way things used to be. He is a young baby with a clean slate for life, he can do things that Nazneen is unable to do now in her age and can live a life rich in way that a young Nazneen would have never imagine in her life back in Bangladesh. Another character whom, although she is not really a main character, but who interacts and provokes thought is Razia. Razia is a neighbor of Nazneen who befriended her when she first arrived in England. Soon Razia becomes a target of neighborhood gossip when she rebels against her abusive husband, (also an arranged marriage) by cutting all of her hair off and doing other things of the like, such as going to college to learn English and wearing men’s trousers and not a sari. But Razia is a strong independent woman who shows Nazneen that there are other ways of living in this new land. Living to benefit the family and the children by evolving from old customs that may not be in the best interest of moving forward.
The title of this book, Brick Lane, is an actual place in London, a place in which, at one point in the book, Nazneen stumbled to as she was having a self-realization and an epiphany about her life and the lives of people. It is a brick paved street filled with multi-cultural shops, eateries and homes, the sights and sounds of which seem to pleasantly mingle to create a wonderful sort of street music. She witnesses white children playing alongside Indian children and people living harmoniously with one another. I believe that this correlates to one of the main themes of the book, which is that of different peoples living happily and easily together. To live without any form of racism or stereotyping, which is still a major problem both in the past and today. I also think this Brick Lane is sort of a goal for her. Nazneen lives in a sort of not-so-nice neighborhood and perhaps as she is starting to settle in finds that this Brick Lane is a goal for her. An ideal neighborhood to raise her child.
Some recurrent themes and ideas that are sprinkled throughout the writing of the book are the themes of finding one self and also of challenge ideas and stereotypes that are passed on from generations. The author of this book is very good at weaving them throughout and relating them to the story at hand and developing them. Some themes are almost like a person themselves, throughout the story they are growing and different characters being to react, and demonstrate ideas from these themes.
A key line from the book, one that also demonstrates a theme is “Fight against one’s Fate can weaken the blood.” (4) This line refers to the fact that, as a baby, Nazneen refused to feed from her mother for many days until she finally did and lived. Her mother did not force her to drink as she thought it would be wiser to leaver her to her Fate, to see whether or not Fate would allow her to live. They said that to do otherwise, to rebel against whatever god had planned for you, would bring fatal consequences. This gives rise to the theme of fate, which is throughout the book, which Nazneen demonstrates by not rebelling against Fate or things such as her arranged marriage.
It was the beginning of summer. Need I say more? All the parties had ended; the sleepovers and karaoke to 80’s classics were all finished. I had laughed and cried and gone through all emotion evoked from the end of one thing, and the start of another. But right now all I could feel was a tremendous glow in my heart. For the first time since around august, I was going to the beach. I was going to be a Jr.Lifeguard, (my mother had decided it would probably get me out of the house and away from the post-school laziness). I mean the name sounded a little lame, no one wants to be a Jr at anything, but at least I’d be at the beach, a place that I seldom would venture to.
I stared outside the car window, on the way to Ala Moana Beach Park, listening to my “beach-house playlist” and letting it narrate my drive to the beach. The bubbly Caribbean-style beats and swing guitar complemented the bright day and the short trip through Waikiki. Soon we arrived at a strip of beach heavily populated with tourists and locals alike, swimming, lounging, surfing, doing all manner of relaxing activities. I said goodbye to my mother and the car and skipped down to the beach, with my ratty beach bag in hand.
But I could hardly walk! The beach was so greatly populated with bodies and bags and the like, that I had to take a winding path until I found my destination, a big white and red tent. Streaked across the side was “Jr Lifeguards, Ocean Safety” I took a deep breath and headed inside.
They looked friendly enough. About fifteen boys and girls, varying in age from 13 to 17 sat lounging around the tent, listening to ipods or talking to each other. The two adult lifeguards sat at the front of the tent looking out into the sea. I started some small talk with the girl next to me, a local girl named Alyssa.
“So, you like the beach?” She asked me, as we put on sunscreen, which my mother had made sure I had more than plenty of.
“Um, well yeah, I don't know, it’s pretty fun…jus don’t want to get burned.” We both laughed, but were interrupted by as the lifeguards began to speak.
“Time to get started, folks.” The taller, bald lifeguard said. “So I’m lifeguard Steve, and this is lifeguard Jeff.” He said pointed to the other lifeguard who gave a grunt of acknowledgement, while still staring out into the sea. “And welcome to the Jr.Lifeguard program!” He went through the rest of the lifeguard curriculum, which included ocean rescue, beachside fitness and CPR, though I only got the gist of it, as during the speech Alyssa was raving about how a spiky-haired kid sitting next to us was named Magic Li.
“But before we get into all that small kine stuff, we run!” said Steve. So we ran, on the beach, weaving through people and trying, sometimes in vain, to not step on rocks. The first half of the day was much like this, exercising while learning how to power swim in the cold water and use a bright red buoy to rescue other kids. Soon the freezing cold water of the beach began to seem like soft, cool water, and the tough athletic exercises became more and more enjoyable. Not only was the program itself fun, but the people too. The kids of the program were truly great people, always having fun and laughing about one thing or another, especially Magic’s 13-year-old boy antics. Steve the lifeguard was also very kind and approachable. “Cheeee Magic, you got all the girls!” He joked as Alyssa once again made a great big fuss about his “cayoootee” name. Soon we had a break for lunch and she and I crossed the street just beyond the beach to go get some food from a local kine snack shop. But as we approached the stand a strange man crept up from the beach side and began to talk to us.
“Hey little ladieeeessss!” He said as he swaggered up to us, his eyes, round and glazed over. We ignored his advances.
“Hey I’m talking to you! You girls right there!” Alyssa and me exchanged glances of fear. But as the man got closer and closer, we heard a voice.
“Knock it off buddy, yeah you, I’m talking to you right there, leave these girls ALONE!” It was the voice of Jeff, the quieter, subtler lifeguard, who now, as he defended us, showed a completely different, and protective demeanor. He had spotted the commotion and once he had intimidated the deranged man, lead us back to the beach. At that moment, I gained a new respect for these people called lifeguards. They had showed us a part of their life, that they live everyday, their techniques, their regime, even their strong-willed attitudes; always helpful and watchful. They help to keep people safe, and risk their own lives in the process. Not only that, but they had saved my own life.
These comic panels represent a very important and inspirational time in my life--when I joined the Jr. Lifeguard program at Ala Moana Beach Park. The lifeguards there and I became great friends and I learned many things from them. Things such as CPR, ways of rescuing people and even as far as living a healthy lifestyle, both with your mind (by being mentally prepared every day), body (by eating food and excersizing often), and your spirit (by living your life pure and wholesomely). Tagore Essay
What is the meaning of life? What is your purpose on this earth? I believe that the answer to these contemplative questions lies in the poem by Rabindranath Tagore, “Life’s aspirations come in the guise of children.” This poem has manifold interpretations and meanings but the most direct is that children are, though sometimes looked over, the only way a piece of you can live on forever.
In the world of science, to create life is the main goal of most animals; to live and survive and reproduce. That is how the phenomena of life is set up to sustain itself. This correlates to the poem because although people may not realize it, they will come to a point in which they see raising a child as a great dream or goal. Although not all people will achieve this ancient dream, without a vast majority of people realizing it the human race would have ended long, long ago.
When you find yourself doing things like studying hard to get into college or settling down from a adventurous life into a stable, happy one think about your motives. Are you going to college to make more money? But why? Maybe the reason is that you want to use that money so that your children can grow up in a good neighborhood, unlike the one you did. Or maybe you realize that the reason is you want to set a good example for future generations, to make them see that they also can achieve.
Children are a map of there parents. No matter how big or small, parents will leave an impression upon them, and people find themselves taking great pride in these miniature copies of themselves. I know because I am one. My parents were very happy whenever I brought some an A on a test or even more recent examples, such as getting into honors classes. If I was a parent I would want my child to go even further than I did, to take chances that I may have been to timid too, to bring honor to our family name, and there to my own self.
Another interpretation of the poem is that of simplicity and innocence of childhood. When you are young, there is nothing stopping you, no dream is too far, no aspiration too far-fetched. You can be an astronaut or a doctor, or even the president. But as some people become older, it seems that they begin to accept personal limitations. Perhaps what the author of the poem meant was that searching your childhood dreams could give you a view into what you truly want for yourself.
These are all different perceptions of the author’s meaning behind the poem. Perhaps there are more, but the beauty of poetry is in what a given poem means to the reader. Without that personal understanding it is naught but mere words on a paper.
