The Woman In The Black And White Photograph

I was going through old photographs for my photography class. We were told that our assignment was to bring in an old picture that needed to be fixed or we could use a photo that we took earlier on in the year to fix using Photoshop. I found a big purple envelope in a cupboard where all our pictures were. In the envelope were many old photographs I have never seen before. I took them down to my room to look at them so I could choose which one I would use for my assignment. 

I come across a photograph that looks like it was taken in around the 1950's or the 60's. There are yellow stains on the black and white photograph. There was a girl. No a young woman. The woman had wavy-curly black hair. She looked no later than in her mid-20's. She looked very young and innocent. She isn't smiling but she doesn't look sad either. I stared deep into the eyes of this woman in the black and white photograph, trying to figure out her emotions. She was beautiful. A natural beauty, an innocent beauty. She looked frail in the photo, small, delicate, and fragile. But absolutely beautiful.

Who knew this woman who once looked so fragile, delicate, and vulnerable was the strongest woman I will ever come to know of. This woman was my Grandmother, my Dadu. All of a sudden I am sitting next to my father and listening to him talk about his wonderful and strong-willed mother. He had this glow in his eyes every time he talks about her. They all do, every single one of her nine amazing children. Every time Baba talks about her he has this admiring tone in his voice, like he is proud and blessed to have such a woman as his mother, a widowed mother who had raised all nine children on her own. . A mother who hadn't failed to teach her children all the important lessons she had learned throughout her life. A mother who never failed to be there for her children. 

I look down at the photo and see her slender body, her fragile and delicate smile, and I am back in Bangladesh for the last time. I am looking down at her and she has that same smile on her face like the one from the photograph. I didn't realize it then but she once again looks small, like the world can crush her, unlike what I have heard from the stories, she looked once again fragile and vulnerable. Who knew that would be the last time I would ever see her. I felt something in my chest, like there is a block right in the middle of my chest making me unable to breath and my throat choking up. I can feel the tears collecting but I wipe it away before anyone can see. I want her to remember me smiling during our goodbyes. 

I once again come to reality. It all feels like a dream. Then I am once again back into the past. This time it’s the day I come home after a good day only to hear my mother tell me in a whispered voice that she is dead. 

"Subah. Subah she died today." 

"...Wait…what do you mean?"

“Your Dadu died. Today."

I just looked at her and turned around, my backpack still on my back. I didn’t even take off my shoes when I came rushing in the house. I didn't realize that I went by the sofa in the living room before my knees gave in and I was sitting on the couch. I heard her say it. But I felt as if the words didn't go through me. That she is just pulling a prank on me. My Dadu did not die today. She is just in the hospital, lying down and resting. With her all her children by her bedside. That's it. She is not dead. I can just call her and hear her voice again and it will be all right. She is not dead. Dadu is not dead! My Dadu is not dead!  

Later on that night my father had called from Bangladesh to check in on my mother, my sister, and I.

“Assalamualaikum Baba.”

“Walaikumassalam Subi...Subah, my mother died today...Subi, my best friend is gone.” He said and his voice faltered when he said it. It sounded like he was about to cry and that made me cry. All I wanted to do at that moment was be there with him in Bangladesh and hug him. Hug him and make all his hardship go away. I got that feeling again. My throat started to choke up and I tried as hard as I could to cover my voice up so he didn’t notice that my voice would shake at any moment and I would burst. It was that moment I had finally realized that she was really gone. My Dadu is gone. But most of all my Baba had lost his Ma that day too. He had lost his best friend that day.

I have seen much of her in each and every one of her children. Her humor in my Choto Fuppi. Her selflessness in my Baba. Her caring nature in my Mejo Fuppi. Her discipline in my Lal Fuppi. Her patience in my Mejo Chachu . Her loving nature in my Nashid Baba. Her responsibility in my Boro Chachu Her generous personality in my Boro Fuppi. Last but not least, her joyfulness in my Chejo Fuppi. To each and every one of her children she was more than a mother to them. She was a teacher, a mentor, and an inspiration. She is my inspiration, my mentor. I want to be as strong as her. To be loved by her children, daughter-in-laws, grandchildren, and great grandchildren as much as her. To be selfless like her. To be able to be a good friend like she was. To be able to be the best sister I can be like she was to her siblings. To not let anything bad get to me like she did. I want to be like my Dadu, The most selfless and strongest person I know.

This one tiny photograph brought bittersweet memories back. All the wonderful time spent with my beloved Dadu but the regrets are rushing through me, I am drowning in regrets. If only I had spent more time with her when I last went. Why hadn't I spent more time? Why? What about when I want to hear her story? Her love story? What about how my Dada was like? What kind of man was he to make my beautiful and strong Dadu fall in love with him? What was it like having nine children being constant reminders of her beloved husband that died too young? Looking at that photograph began to drown me in regret that I can never get rid of. It made me realize that people will leave. They always leave, whether or not they intend to or not. Death is inevitable, even to the strongest. Never take anything or anyone for granted. That is what I had learned. I had believed my Dadu would always be there but that is not how this world works. People always leave. You just have to make the most of it and make as minimum of regrets as possible.