The backdrop of Assam has been different since boats arrived from the border; the Myanmar war has destabilised the whole area, but this time there was a stark contrast. The Rohingya men fled to the west and the Middle East, but the Rohingya women couldn’t go further.
The first group arrived soon enough; this time, the social activists were peaceful because they were women. Burqa-clad women, mostly in their 40s and 50s, most without their children.
The Assam government gave them temporary small settlements in Guwahati, Sivasagar, Jorhat and Dibrugarh. There were few in number, with 100-120 women in each settlement.
Women-centric NGOs were desperate to contact them; they wanted to help these ‘helpless women’. One such NGO was the Women of Assam Forum. It had many members, so what they did was employ some of these women as their maids or give them some money to become tailors, butchers, and washerwomen.
Jonali Pathak was one of its members, a housewife of 51 years who had been serving her husband for eternity. After marrying her daughter off, she got a bit of her freedom and joined the forum; she just wanted to help the Rohingya women learn how to integrate.
Her husband used to go to his fields in the morning and come back in the evening, so she didn’t have anything to do for the whole day. So, she went to the camp nearby, where the Rohingya lived. It had a small school, now only for vocational education.
Jonali was not that educated, but she knew her language, knew how to knit, cooked good food and was caring.
The Rohingya women used to look at the Assamese women strangely, as they wore mekhela chador, which clung to their bodies beautifully, their navels, hands and upper backs on view for everyone.
Rohingya women covered themselves fully, but still there was something about how some were tailoring their dresses; the burqas they wore earlier were more baggy or oversized, but now they were a bit tighter, their curves showing a bit; some acknowledged it as a contemporary of the Assamese women.
The market was also really good; it was less costly. They just wanted to live their lives. Assamese women came to these markets quite often for tailoring, spices, parlour and services, and other things.
One such day, Jonali arrived at the camp; it was Sunday, so the market was full, the sun at full intensity, her body full of sweat oozing from her temples, armpits, navel, and private areas.
Suddenly, an umbrella came up; the shade gave her relief, and she looked sideways and saw Nagma Khatoon. She stood tall at 5.7, wearing a green coloured hijab that held her curves in a proper way. Her face looked rough, her teeth dirty due to tobacco consumption, but there was an intense look she gave that made people listen to her.
The only thing similar about both of them was their voluptuous figure: Jonali’s chest at 38 and Nagma’s 36, but the former’s hips at 36 and the latter’s at 38. The most striking difference was their skin colour: Jonali with a creamy white complexion and Nagma Dusky brown.
