Photo by Iraj Ishtiak on Unsplash
The subject of duty has been deeply imprinted in my mind this week. It relates to the idea of expectations and roles, passed down by family and society.
I went back to see my parents in London, where I also reconnected with the works of my grandfather, Delwar Hussain Chowdhury. Before his death in 1977, he wrote many poems that my father compiled after his death.
My grandfather, was a regional inspector, posted down in Barishal, Bangladesh. In 1942, he received a telegram that his father – my great-grandfather – was nearing death. My grandfather returned back to our ancestral home in Noorpur, Sylhet. Here, he promised my great-grandfather that he would continue the Chowdhury legacy and inherit the responsibility of governing the land.
My grandfather handed in his resignation. It was at first rejected. Instead, he was offered a prestigious role as Port Commissioner of Chittagong Port. This was the biggest port in Bengal. My grandfather turned down this offer. Instead, he would live his life fulfilling his promise.
I never met my grandfather. He died 16 years before I was born. I didn’t know much about him until recently. I’ve only really come into deeper contact with our family history since working with my father on his biography.
I’ve spent some time reading through what my grandfather had written. It’s been very rich to reconnect with my ancestral history. He was clearly very intelligent and a moral person. It is reflected in his writing, as well as how he lived his life.
জ্ঞানোদয়
কোথায় ছিলেরে জ্ঞান কোথা হতে এলে তিপ্পান্ন বয়সে এসে প্রথম দেখা দিলে ছিলে তুই আশেপাশে মোরে লুকাইয়া চালিয়েছ শরিফদেরে মোরে ছাপাইয়া।
একাদশ মাসে মালিক পিতৃ গৌরব ট্রাস্টি হলেন একেলা আপন রক্তে একার অর্থে বয়ে ছিলাম ঝামেলা। অর্থ গেল উপাস এলো ঋণ সাথি মোর তোর উদয়ে আঁধার হলো সবই দেখি পর।
আগস্ট, ১৯৫৫
দেলওয়ার হোসেন চৌধুরী
Wisdom’s Awakening
Where was wisdom, and from where did it arrive? At the age of fifty-three, I saw it come alive. You were always nearby, yet were concealed from me But through the Prophets’ guidance, you taught my eyes to see
In the eleventh month, the father stood alone in trust. Within my blood there flowed hardship, loss and dust. In hunger and poverty, debt walked close to me With your rising, the darkness lifted, and now I finally see
August, 1955
By Delwar Hussain Chowdhury
Reconnecting with his poetry was heavier than I expected. His writing betrayed the difficulties he had in his life. He spoke about the loneliness of leadership, bemoaned the degradation of morals, and wrote about uncomfortable issues such as family betrayals.
I perhaps naively thought I would find a calmness from reading these poems. In reality, his life would span the Second World War, the partition of India, the Bangladeshi Liberation War (where millions were killed, and a Pakistani Army General set up camp in our ancestral home) and the ensuing famine which killed further millions. He had the impossible choice of either keeping his children close in Sylhet to live with little means, or sending them abroad to be educated earn a living, but with little guidance.
I have no doubt either that the binding of duty to family had a deep impact on his life. I also have no doubt that it has been passed down to my parent’s generation, as well as to myself. Our family have naturally gravitated towards professions that serve others.
My uncles worked in local councils either in the UK or Bangladesh. My father has been involved with numerous charitable projects across the two countries. My oldest brother works in international development. I ended up working in Government in the UK and EU.
This is not about some spiritual mysticism. Even western psychologist Carl Jung talked about ‘ancestral inheritance’. The footprints of a family can be seen in a child, even if they grew up in a completely different setting, or indeed separated from their family. A more modern term often used is ‘generational trauma’, though this is not always necessarily trauma (and I must admit, I am slightly uneasy at how often the word trauma is bandied around in instagram-therapy speak).
I am certainly glad to have a family heritage of helping people. It’s one that I am proud of. Nonetheless, I also recognise that it can have a shadow-side. When supporting others falls into compulsive duty, it can become an obligation. I can see in both my grandfather’s writings and from my father, that it can build a sense of resentment, particularly when it is not reciprocated or even appreciated.
An important part of shifting karmic cylces is recognising the scripts. Otherwise, we unconsciously follow the same pattern that our parents and grandparents make. This is something that I think I am breaking away of, but one I am seeing repeating in some of my brothers and cousins.
This does not mean that I need to turn away from helping others. That is definitely not the point. Instead, it’s breaking the pattern that I must help others without discerning whether it is the best thing to do. There are times where I think my father and grandfather have been taken advantage of due to their generosity.
My aim is to write a new script, which honours the past, but is not beholden to it.
I don’t think that I ever met Dada (unless it was the year spent in Bangladesh as a baby), but he’s been instrumental in my life too.
As well as sending some of his children abroad for work and study, he also sent his wife’s nephew, my father. My father was a bit of a ‘Fresh Prince of Bel Air’ case. Poorer relative with educational promise but little opportunity, moves from his village to be educated in his aunt’s village.
Subsequently my father came to England as a teenager, studied, worked, and then joined his older cousins in building up family businesses.
Without Fenchuganj Dada & Dadi’s commitment to help my father, he would never have met mother. Thereby I would never have been born.
I owe a lot to him and his generosity. I have met Dadi and she was similarly open-hearted and generous. She was a strict matriarch but had a softer side with the grandchildren. I loved her as well as I loved my own grandparents.