My husband and I used to work at Rana Plaza together.

My husbands name is
Motiur and my name is Mili. Motiur and I were relatives. We fell in love and got
married. My family and I were living in the village back then. I noticed Motiur when
his family lived nearby my paternal cousins house. He visited their house freely and
its there that I met him. Actually, he was very well-behaved, thats why I always
secretly liked him. Mashallah he was tall, handsome, and very gentle. My parents
didnt agree to our marriage, but we went ahead and got married against their
wishes. My family reacted quite harshly and werent in contact with me for three
years just because of this. Weve been married for four years and ten months.
Before this, Motiur was a mechanic in his maternal uncles workshop. He completed
his SSC, and I managed to finish class eight. Neither of us could continue our
studies after that. Instead, two months after we got married we came to Dhaka.
Back in the village we were then worried about getting work and earning a living. In
desperation we sought out an acquaintance, a woman we called aunty, who told us
that we could find work if we came to Dhaka. We took her advice and came to
Dhaka. In the beginning Motiur was hired as a cutting helper. An in-charge had to be
bribed three hundred taka for this job. I started working two months after that. My
salary was only 2,450 taka out of which we had to pay our room rent of 1,000 taka.
There was no overtime benefit. Motiur earned 3,000 taka in the first month. We
didnt know how we were going to manage both the room rent and food for the
month with that money. Motiur didnt want me to take the extra load but I wanted to
earn for my household. I thought: If I had a sewing machine, I could earn some
extra money to support him. Sewing I knew, but I couldnt afford to buy a sewing
machine at that time.
On that day I was running late before going to the factory. When I started cooking
rice that morning I noticed the time there were only five minutes left before I had
to start for work. So we went to the factory without eating breakfast. Motiur and I go
together everyday, but on that day he had already left without taking his mobile
phone with him. I followed later. We worked close by on the fourth floor. That day
there was a power cut and that gave him a chance to come and talk to me. I was
feeling ill and the power cut allowed me to take a little rest with my head down on
the machine when he came over, gently touched my head, and said, Youre feeling
unwell because you didnt eat breakfast. Do you have any money on you? Then Ill
go outside and buy some food that we can share. I had a five hundred taka note
with me that I had planned on spending on the household. But we needed to put
something in our stomachs so I decided to spend 40 50 taka to buy some snacks
for both of us.
On the previous night, Motiur was called by the Chairman at ten oclock to work on
the C line. By the time he returned home, it was three oclock in the morning. The
next day, after that conversation during the power cut, he went back to his station.
He was tired and starving. I cant explain why, but it seemed that on that day, we
kept lifting our eyes off of our work and glancing yearningly at each other from time

to time. We worked like this on that day when all on a sudden, we heard a crashing
sound. Not even one second after that, I could feel that the floor was caving in and
everything was sinking in it. I couldnt tell who was thrown off where. I screamed
and screamed. There was a pillar beside Motiurs workstation and I think it crashed
on him and killed him then and there. I was rescued one and half hours later by the
C line Supervisor Faruk.
I dont recall how I came out. At first all I saw was darkness. I dont know whether or
not its because the building had tilted, I saw light coming in through a crack
somewhere. I had got hurt in my head and legs. I was on the ground crying
uncontrollably when Faruk pulled me up by my hand. My frantic eyes searched left
and right but couldnt spot Motiur anywhere. My tears wouldnt stop. This is what
happened that day.
We had married out of love, knowing full well that it would be extremely difficult for
us to fulfill our desire for children before we could be financially stable. And thats
the reason we chose not to have babies in those five years. Motiurs wish was to
first organize our household before children came into the family. We thought we
would earn enough to save some money so that we could return to our village and
live comfortably there. We were slowly buying items for our household, one at a
time a showcase, a dressing table, two chairs, a bed, a trolley, racks, etc. Although
we were still quite poor, we were quite efficient and looked forward to a decent
lifestyle for ourselves. There is a saying: A housewife too eager for a perfect
household ends up with no home. My condition is exactly like that. In my parents
home, we werent rich, but our home was always in perfect order. And my heart was
filled with the wish for a good husband with whom I would make a home. I did
eventually find one. But my fate became discontent with me.
When we came to Dhaka from our village home, Motiur had brought with him only
three steel plates, two spoons one for curries, and the other for rice, a glass, two
pillows and two quilts. We had no bed to sleep on, it was a pitiful condition. There
were no utensils to cook with, not even a jug to hold water. But we were working so
hard that we were determined that one day we would have a beautiful household
and a complete family. We didnt want too much; only to build a decent life for
ourselves. But now everything is finished. And all I have now is pain.
At present my plan is to stay back in the city and work and live here. I wont return
to the village. I have nothing, not even children. Sometimes I think that Ill never
marry again because I wont find someone as good as Motiur. I dont know what my
future is but I dont want to burden my parents or anyone else for that matter.
Nowadays I get upset when people speak in front of me in a solemn tone. I get
suspicious that theyre saying things because I am vulnerable without a husband.
But I still want to live in Dhaka. Ive told my father that I wont return to the village
as long as I can work in the city. Ill go when Im old and I can buy my own piece of

land in the village to build my own home. What will I do in Dhaka when Im old and
can no longer work? We poor people cant hope to build a home in Dhaka.
My husband Motiur is still missing. A dead body was found after thirteen days,
wearing a pair of jeans by which I identified him as Motiur. But another woman
showed up claiming that it was her brother. And so the police didnt hand the body
over to me. I wasnt able to recognize his face; it had turned almost into a skeleton.
Motiur had a cut on his leg from falling off a tree in his childhood. I even saw that on
the corpse. Only there were no hairs on his legs. Perhaps they had shed off in those
thirteen days. His name was there on all the missing persons lists. Suddenly one
day I heard from somewhere that a grave in the Jurain graveyard had a signboard
with Motiurs name and address on it. At first I was frightened by the news but later
I convinced myself that at least its a consolation that I found his grave. Maybe the
DNA would match, I didnt know. So I visited the grave but on asking around,
discovered that neither the DNA matched nor could anyone say with certainty that
the body they had found was Motiurs. I went around asking anyone who could tell
me whose grave it was. I desperately needed to know, but nobody could answer
me not the caretakers there, or BGMEA officials. Even today I wonder how all this
even happened. Who could have put up that signboard? I still dont know. I think Ill
never know.