Breaking free of patriarchal moulds: A daughter's journey
I was chatting with a friend over tea. Somehow, the conversation took a turn to our mothers—how their kind of strict parenting moulded us, and how we struggled to liberate ourselves from their archetype upbringing.
The way I see it, perhaps our mothers knew no better. They had savage expectations from us and if we did not conform to their views of how a proper deshi girl should be—subservient and selfless—we stood no chance.
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel. From an early age, we were taught to educate ourselves, learn to keep the house, not go to parties unchaperoned, be an epitome of perfection to her circle of friends, and, God forbid, never fall in love with a man who cannot provide for us! We had to be the woman their mothers taught them to be.
This teaching of patriarchal values has been going on for generations. Our mothers, when they were daughters themselves, were programmed by our grandmothers to be submissive, and they imparted that "survival tactic" in us. They earnestly believed that to endure in a man's world, one needed to abide by their rules. Of course, mothers were backing male chauvinism while making us puppets of their bigotry.
Both my friend and I had patriarchal mothers. They were dominating figures and hardly gave us a chance to voice our frustrations. They made sure to crush our voices because they could not relate to the reason for our rebellions.
Subconsciously and unconsciously, our mothers imparted misogynistic values in us. We were raised to do the thankless job of a deshi wife and mother; our emotional needs were never a point of concern. They prepared us to raise a family, cook rice, make tea, take care of the children and the in-laws, etc. At the same time, they wanted us to educate ourselves and to be financially independent, so that in times of hardship, we could also take up the finances of running a household and raising a family.
The Bangladeshi mother-daughter relationship is very complicated. Daughters can never appreciate the reason for the strongly prejudiced upbringing we go through. However, if we just think for a while, our mothers, too, were oppressed and subjected to patriarchy themselves.
They wanted us to be able to do it all while they raised their sons in a manner where their only job was to provide for their families. The double standards! Mothers never taught us equality. We were not made to realise that we could do all of the above on an equal playing field.
A daughter's identity—be it our grandmothers, mothers, or us and our daughters—is not defined by who she is fundamentally or characteristically, but who she should become to navigate through and thrive in a man's world. It is as if our only milestone in life is the ability to be a good wife and a selfless mother; our professional identity is always secondary.
Our upbringing conditioned us to not notice how fathers were only there on the surface. Yet, we take out all our frustrations on the mothers who are holding everything together. Fathers of yesteryears, and to some extent even now, are cushioned in their world. A father's job as a family man ends with giving a monthly cheque to her to run the family show.
Despite all the friction, we expected everything from the mother: emotional support and consolation, that physical need for a hug, the sense of security, and even that plate of soul food. And still do!
Even today, at 50-something, when I fall sick, I want my mum to feed me and hold me, and hum the lullaby she used to sing to calm my nerves when I was a child. Despite everything, she is our only place of emotional security and at the same time, there is no denying that we have a history of endless frustrations, anger, and resentment.
The Bangladeshi mother-daughter relationship is very complicated. Daughters can never appreciate the reason for the strongly prejudiced upbringing we go through. However, if we just think for a while, our mothers, too, were oppressed and subjected to patriarchy themselves.
Our mothers simply did not realise how their childhood was shaped by patriarchy. They were not aware that such discrimination was done to them, and thus they just pushed us beyond limits. Even if they did, they were helpless victims and could not bring about change.
But what happened to us when we became mothers of a girl child ourselves? Why are we falling into the bigotry? Why can't we teach our daughters that they are their own bosses, and that you do not have to be a man to achieve it all? Where did we go wrong?
It is high time to teach our daughters to heal, and to envision a new world where both men and women get equal opportunities in their social standings. Instead of teaching them to navigate a world run by patriarchy, we should teach them to break down the system of society in which men hold power and women are largely excluded from it.
Raffat Binte Rashid is a journalist.
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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