MY STORMY YOUTH

Autobiography - Volume II

Taslima Nasreen

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Chapter One

AGE

I had just submitted my application form for the SSC Examination, when ‘a four feet one inch cat-eyed DaVinci’ Kalyani Pal, the

Bangla

teacher, declared that I would not be able to take the exam. What was thereason? “You are underage, you cannot take the exam at fourteen; you have to be fifteen.” But how was Isupposed to acquire a whole year? Disappointed, I returned home and informed everyone that I wouldn’t beable to take the exam that year. Why not? I was underage. After much deliberation Ma said “I have heard thatmany things can’t be done because one is too old for them, you can’t join the University or you can’t get jobs.” Maybe so, but for the SSC the reverse is true. If you are underage, sit at home and grow old. Come back to take the exam when you are fifteen. Towards dusk, Ma read the

Esha

Namaz and read two parts of thespecial sixth prayer known as the

Nafal

Namaz as well, bowing her head at the

darbar

of Allah. She informedthe Almighty, in tears, that her daughter was not being able to take her exams. However, she was sure that if Allah chose, He could deliver her daughter from this terrible eligibility problem; enable her to not only takethe exam but also to pass successfully.I do not know to what extent Allah came to my rescue, but Baba certainly did. He went to my school the verynext day and scratching out the year 1962 from the SSC form, he wrote 1961. He told me that from now on Ihad better glue myself to the study desk and chair. I was to stop all gossip and mischief and concentrate fullyon my studies so that I passed my SSC exam in the First Division with four Distinctions. If I didn’t, he wouldthrow me out of the house he had said without mincing words.My age had been increased by a year. A child, I would be taking the exam with elders. I was overjoyed.Pricking my balloon of joy Dada said, “Who said you were born in 1961?”“Baba did.”

“

Rubbish

Baba

had lowered your age.”“That means I was actually born in 1961?”“Not 1961, you were born in 1960. I remember seeing the parade at the Circuit House on 14

August,Pakistan’s Independence Day. You were born soon after.”Chhotda got up, and tightening the knot on his lungi and exposing his black gums, added, “What are yousaying Dada. How could she have been born in 1960? She was born in 1959.”I was crushed. I went to Ma and demanded, “Tell me my real date of birth, will you!” Ma said, “You were born on the twelfth day of

Rabi-ul-awal ,

the third month of the Muslim calendar , I don’t recall the year.”“All this

Rabi-ul-awal

doesn’t work at school. Tell me the English year. The date.”“Can one remember years and dates after so long? Ask your father. He might.”There were two birth dates, Dada’s and Chhotda’s

written on the first page of Baba’s Anatomy book. Therewas no trace of Yasmin’s and my birth dates or years in any corner of any one of the twelve hundred pages of