For the last thirty years, Rahima had known the world through her window. Thirty years of marriage, being a wife, a mother, a sister-in-law, a daughter-in-law, an accountant, a cook, a sweeper. She had been through it all. Sometimes her husband liked to joke with his friends about how she had gone through every kind of mundane job for minimum wages. Thirty years ago, she was a first-class graduate in biology and wanted to have a job. So, her parents thought, if she was capable enough to have a job, then she was capable enough to handle a family. Within a month, before she could make a scene about it, she was married to a man she barely knew. But she was a mature girl, said her parents and her relatives; she was capable of performing her duties as a wife, they said. Her mother-in-law wanted a daughter-in-law to stay in the house. Her husband said, "I don't mind.
" Rahima said nothing. Today's cycle was also the same. The weekend holiday at their home was like an open invitation to all. Her husband's friends liked to come and have
lunch. Faint sounds of their gossip about politics came through the kitchen doors. When she listened again, her husband made the same joke about her being capable of doing all kinds of mundane jobs for minimum wages. Everyone laughed; she tried to laugh. She again looked through her window. She knew the mango tree's moods, the vegetable seller's call at ten. The exact hour the sunlight crossed the stove. Her eyes fell on the cherry tree in her neighbour's garden. Its white-pink petals looked so beautiful that her heart soared with happiness that she hadn't felt in a long time. Her daughter Nisha had said that it looked like cherry blossoms, which are mostly found in Japan. From then on, Rahima had an affection for cherry blossoms. She found a photograph of cherry blossoms in Japan, pale pink against a pale sky.
She had cut it out, pressed it inside her old Quran-sharif cover, and kept it hidden there. Her husband called her, "Hey, is the lunch ready? Everyone is hungry. Hurry up" "It's almost ready. Give me twenty minutes," Rahima said.
She had made a spread of about eight dishes. At fifty, she could make fifty dishes without a recipe, and no one had ever once asked what she wanted to eat. Everyone was seated at the table. Rahima began serving the main course to her husband's friends. She called her daughter, Nisha, dear, come down for lunch. " "Coming, Mama.
" Her daughter replied from upstairs. "Isn't your daughter already twenty-six? Rafiq," asked one of her husband's friends. A familiar uneasiness crept over Rahima. She knew what question would come next. " Yes, she is. She graduated from her college this year. She is planning to pursue a master's degree . Rahima answered, feeling proud of her daughter. As if Rahima sensed it, the question came from her husband's friend. Because the very next second the friend said, That's good, but isn't she getting late? Aren't you finding a suitable boy for your daughter's marriage?
"
Her husband answered, completely avoiding Rahima's gaze, "Yes, we are looking around, but I think it should be my daughter's choice. Young people make their own decisions these days. If I find someone suitable and she likes him, then we can proceed.
" Rahima felt a brief wave of relief. She had expected a different answer from her husband. Just then, Nisha came downstairs and took her seat at the table. "Mama, sit with us," said Nisha, "No, dear, I will eat later," Rahima answered, placing the sweet dish on the table. "Hey, you should eat too," one of her husband's friends remarked. "Yes, sit down," said her husband added, taking a second helping of food. Rahima was about to sit when he spoke again. "Hey, where are the pickled chiles? The food doesn't taste the same without them "Yes, let me get them.
" Rahima rose from her chair and returned to the kitchen.
Nisha looked at her mom and sighed. " You know, Dad, pickled chiles give you indigestion; I suggest you stop eating them, " Nisha said, looking straight into her father's eyes, smiling And the lunch went on. In the evening, when the house slept, Rahima finished cleaning the kitchen with Nisha tagging along with her. "Mama, sometimes it's okay to not get up from the table, you know. Dad can fetch things, you know.
" Nisha said, not looking at her mother as she scrubbed the pans in soapy water. Rahima shushed her and said, "Don't say things like that. I know what's going on in your mind, but don't think about your father like that. He is not a perfect person, but who is perfect in this world? "So you know what I think? " Nisha said, almost dropping the pans. "Careful with those, dear. " Rahima said "Okey okey.....
" Nisha said while hiding her smile. After finishing their work, both of them sat down on the sofa. The afternoon had just ended; the alarm clock on the coffee table dinged,
indicating it was afternoon tea time. And her mother-in-law's time to take medicine. "You go and take rest, Nisha," Rahima said while getting up from the sofa to give her mother-in-law medicine. Her mother-in -law was sick these days. So, she liked to make visits to her friends; she said it makes her feel better. "Grandma was at her friend's home again, Mama," asked Nisha. "Yes, she even had lunch there, after making me cook for her according to her diet.
" "But she didn't eat anything; she said she was full," Nisha said in a surprised tone while flipping through magazines on the table. "Yes, dear, these things happen. Don't get shocked.
" Said Rahma while fixing her headscarf and knocking at her mother-in-law's door. "Come in.
" Rahima's mother-in-law said. Nisha watched her mother enter her grandmother's room. Nisha stood up from the sofa when she knocked on the Quran Sharif, "Ishhh," Nisha said while picking up the Quran Sharif and noticed a
photograph of Japan's Mount Fuji with cherry blossom trees covering the sides of the picture. Nisha smiled, looking at the photo, and put it back inside the Quran Sharif A few weeks had passed, and everything was the same, like routine office work. "Mama," said Nisha one night, sitting on the edge of her bed. " You remember the university I applied for a scholarship to? I got a reply from them. I had to go to Japan for the final round of the interview on campus.
" "Alhamdulillah, oh my God, I knew it," Rahma said, wiping the tears that had started flowing. "Let's go and tell you, Dad " Rahima said, standing up from her bed. "Mama, listen," Nisha said while holding her mother's hands. " I already applied for a visa for you and me with the money I saved while working and the savings account you set up for me " "Okay, but why me? Did you ask your father?
" "l asked you.
" Nisha held out her phone. "One application for me, and one for you.
"
On the screen was a visa form: Mrs. Rahima Akhter. Her own name, in capital letters, on something that was hers. Rahima's hands trembled. Your father will never allow it.
" "I'm not asking him to allow it," Nisha said gently. "I'm asking you if you want to go.
" The silence stretched. Somewhere outside, a rickshaw bell rang. Then, in a voice she barely recognized, Rahima whispered, " I don't think it is a good idea. Your grandmother is sick these days, and your father won't be able to handle the household". Even as she said it, she was already standing, smoothing her sari, heading for the door. "Let me tell your father. He should hear it from me first...
" Nisha caught her wrist lightly. "Mama. Don't go to him yet.
" Rahima stopped. She looked at her own hand in her daughter's and then at the door, as if the old path through it were still the only one she knew. "Just sit with it for tonight," Nisha said. That's all I'm asking.
" Slowly, Rahima sat back down on the edge of the bed.
Next morning, When the sweet rays of morning sun hit the bedroom curtains, it was already a few hours since Rahima had woken up. She could not sleep and kept thinking about what Nisha had said. Fishing out the photograph from the Quran Sharif, she looked at it. Her heart said, "Go, go for the first time in her life, do something you would enjoy.
" But the second the thought came, she dismissed it. During this time, she finished her morning prayer and ironed her husband's clothes for his office. When she came out of their room, "Ahhh.. Rahima almost let out a scream because Nisha was standing in front of their bedroom door, and tea and breakfast were ready on the table. "Mama, see, I made breakfast. So, what do you think about going to Japan with me for a few days ? " Nisha said in one breath. " Wow.. My daughter finally woke up before 7 A.M." Dismissing Nisha's question, Rahma looked over the table with breakfast her daughter had made: bread and butter, but fruits cut on a plate. "Mama, please, you have to think about it. This chance will not come again.
"
"You burnt the flatbreads . Now the breakfast is half done. You know your grandmother won't eat it.
" "Come on, mama, I saw her eating bread, butter, and jam when you went out to water the plants. Nisha said, " Please think about it " Rahima looked at her daughter with a smile. "l will think about it," Rahima said just to calm her daughter down. For the rest of the day, Nisha followed her mother from room to room, returning to the subject whenever she found an opening. Rahima tried to ignore her, but her daughter's persistence followed her even into the quietest corners of the house. " Rahima , Rahima.... Where are you?
" called her mother-in-law. "Yes, coming," Rahima shouted back. It was almost dinner time. Rahima was setting the dinner table. "Where are my glasses? Where did you put it ?" "They are maybe on the side table beside your bed or in the cupboard, ma," Rahima answered while coming out of the kitchen. "They are not there; come fast and find them
"They are there, Ma; please look for them," Rahima said as she was removing the pot carrying her vegetable stew before it burned down. "They not there, I am old that you are ignoring me, right?. I wouldn't have married my son to you if I knew you would disobey like this. Your parents hadn't taught you how to respect your in-laws.
" Rahima's mother-in-law, Mrs. Akhunessaa, said with a wail that shook their home. Nisha stomped out of her room and went to her grandmother's room and looked for her glasses in her cupboard. After finding them, she gave it on her grandmother's hand and without saying anything went out of her room. "Like mother, like daughter; if the mother doesn't know how to respect how, will the daughter learn to respect?
" Mrs. Akhunessa murmured under her breath. It was a regular thing that happened in this house. 78-year-old Mrs. Akhunessa made sure that Rahima knew that she didn't like her daughter-in-law, even after 30 years of their marriage, the reason Rahima hadn't found out. It got even more serious after Nisha's birth. Later that night, Rafiq came home from the office and sat down to dinner. Between mouthfuls, his mother began her list. The rice was too soft. The
vegetables had too much salt. Rahima had talked back. The maid had been paid too much. Rahima had left the clothes out in the sun too long. Nisha looked at her father, who kept eating, and at her grandmother, who was serving her father more rice. When her grandmother finished and shuffled back to her room, Nisha asked her father," Grandmother said bad things to Mama this evening.
" Rafiq said quietly, "Don't mind her. She's getting old. Tell your mother to ignore it. I'll talk to her.
" Rahima heard them. "Yes, I know, Rahima said. "I have been ignoring this for a long time.
" Her voice was firm, maybe the first time in years. Maybe the thread of patience she had been holding onto was finally close to its breaking point. Her husband, Rafiq, always said this. He never said anything to his mother, and sometimes she wished her husband would actually talk to his mother about this. Maybe this time she had enough. After dinner, while they cleared the table, Rahima took her daughter's hands, who was helping her, still wet from the dishes. " Let's go to Japan, dear," She said. Your mama needs a break for a few
days.
" A huge grin broke out across Nisha's face. "Yes, yes...
" she whisper-shouted, throwing her arms around her mother. The next morning. A storm broke at breakfast. "A woman going abroad alone? With no men with them? Rahima's mother-in-law set down her cup so hard the tea jumped "What will people say? Who will cook? Do you expect me to die without eating? You know I can't eat when strangers cook for me.
" Mrs. Akhunessa shouted as her face started to get red. "And who will protect you?
" She said, "Protect her from what, dadi? Nisha asked. "Cherry trees?
" "Don't be smart.
" Her uncle, summoned by phone, arrived by noon and delivered his verdict from the sofa. "In our family, women do not travel without a man. "Your father, your brother, your husband, someone. It is not safe. It is not done.
" Rafiq sat quietly, studying the floor. He was a man who had never been
asked to choose, and so had never learned how. "Rafiq," his mother shouted. "Say something.
" He looked at Rahima. For the first time in years, he really looked at her. She saw the question in his eyes, and she did something she had not done in thirty years of their marriage. She answered before he spoke. "l am going," she said. "l would like your blessing, but I am going.
" Rahima said this, finally finding the courage to have something for herself. No one breathed. "l have fed this family for thirty years," she said. Her voice shook, but she did not stop. I have never asked for anything. I am asking now. One trip. Ten days. I will come back. I only want to see something before I am too old to see it. And Nisha will attend her interview, and if everything goes well , she will attend her university in Japan.
" Rafiq said nothing. But that night, she found him standing at their room door. "Pack some warm clothes, " he mumbled. "l heard it's very cold these days. I will hire someone to help around the house while you and Nisha are away. And I will return home as early as possible. Don't worry about us. Then he left with a somber look on his face.
Rahima almost said that he didn't have to worry that she would not go, but in her heart she felt that if she didn't go this time, the next time wouldn't come. On the day of the flight, the airport felt like another planet. It was her first time at an airport. Rahima clutched her passport and her bag tightly. A new one, issued only last month. She had stood in the passport office in a line of strangers, and a clerk had called her name aloud: Mrs. Rahima Akhter. She had felt the sound of it all the way to her toes. Nisha squeezed her hand," Breathe, mama.
" At the time of immigration counter, a stern officer flipped through their documents. Rahima's heart was racing fast. She feared that if something went wrong, then everything would go wrong. The immigration officer glanced at Rahima, then at the space beside her, then at Nisha. "Where is the male guardian ? " "Excuse me ? " Nisha said. "Her husband, her son, a brother, someone.
" He tapped the counter. "A woman of her age, travelling with a young girl of her age with no male
guardian. This is irregular. I need to see a no-objection letter from her husband, at least.
" Behind them, the queue murmured. Rahima felt the old dread in her chest again, the instinct to lower her eyes, apologize, retreat to the kitchen of herself. Her face burned. She almost turned around. Then she remembered the window. The cherry blossoms.
Her own name in capital letters. "Officer," She said in a quiet voice. He looked up, surprised that she had spoken. "l am a forty-year-old woman. I am a citizen of this country. This is my passport, in my name. This is my visa, in my name. This is my ticket, bought with a daughter's hard-earned money, in my name. The reservation of our hotel, everything the rules mentioned in there " Her voice was steady but it treambled when she said.
" Which law says I need a man's permission to leave my own country?
" The officer opened his mouth. Closed it. As if he was too stunned to say anything. Nisha stepped forward, calm, as if she had reheashed this in the mirror.
And truth be told, she had kind of expected this to happen, and she had practiced it that morning. "Sir, we checked the immigration rules carefully. There is no requirement of a male guardian for an adult woman with valid documents. If there is a specific regulation you are referring to, we would be glad to read it together.
" Nisha almost shouted so that their conversation could be heard at least at the back of the line. A long awkward pause. The queue had gone silent. An older woman at the back of the line, carrying a worn-out bag, said loudly, "What are you thinking, Sir ?. Let them go.
" At the same time, a young man around the same age as Nisha said, "Let them go, sir. You are also making us late for our flight.
" A few people were seen with their phones up; someone clapped softly but then stopped, embarrassed. The officer cleared his throat. He looked again at the passport. He looked, perhaps for the first time, at Rahma himself. A woman with a faded pink sari under her coat, holding her belongings in her two hands. He stamped the page.
"Safe journey, madam and miss," he said, a little stiffly. "Thank you," said Rahima. And then, because she could leave: "Please do your job by the law and not by what people will say.
" With that, she and Nisha started to walk, "Mama, great line. You were like a superstar; I'm so proud of you.
" said. You should have looked at his pale face.
" In the plane, Rahima's seat was by the window. Nisa When the plane lifted, Dhaka started to disappear into a quilt of lights, and her whole life disappeared with it, the kitchen, the arguments, the careful rules. She pressed her forehead to the glass and cried, quietly, without shame. Nisha took her mother's hand," Are you scared?
" "Terrified," Rahima laughed, wiping her tears, "And happy. I didn't know you could be both at the same time.
" "l know, right? I am also scared; I'm afraid the university won't grant me the scholarship, but I am so happy that you are going with me "Even if you don't get the scholarship, you are still my daughter. I know
would achieve great things in life in whatever you choose to do, Don't be too scared, dear.
" Five days later, in a park in Tokyo, the cherry trees were in bloom, exactly like the photograph she kept hidden, except warmer, softer, and alive. Petals drifted onto Rahima's shoulders and into her hair. She stood under them for a long time. Her phone buzzed. A message from Rafiq: Send me a photo, please. She smiled. She took one photo of the trees, and after a moment's hesitation, turned the camera around and took one of herself. And she sent it. Behind her, Nisha shouted, Mama, let's go. I am hungry.
" Putting the phone away, she took some of the fallen petals in her hand and said " Coming, dear.
" Rahima put those petals in her bag and smiled.
