When time stood still

Ferhat Anwar says he is indeed a blessed man to be alive, to see the world again, and to have caring friends and a loving and affectionate family.

The soft voice singing a soul-stirring Bangla song brought time to a standstill. It was past midnight as we sat around on the stairs leading down to the expansive water pool at Brac CDM, Savar. Dr Imran Rahman, pro-vice chancellor of ULAB and a singer, strummed on his guitar as Dr Ferhat Anwar's daughter Silma Tamanina, sang melodiously in the stillness of the night. A soft breeze occasionally caressed us in the moonlit night, which gave the picturesque surroundings a silver mantle in the darkness. The Bengali love for music kept us enthralled as we lived the moments, having suspended the reality of mundane living, time stood still. As she sang, her mother, Nazia Zabeen, and Dr Haseena Khan of Dhaka University joined in. Their voices were blending in, adding a sweetness that made us wish the night would never end.
It was a welcome weekend break as we took time off from the hectic workdays of our corporate lives to participate as judges in Novartis' 2010 Biocamp. We had kicked off the event in the evening and were taking time off, calming our frayed nerves. That is inevitable living in the concrete jungle of Dhaka. As soon as we finished dinner, Imran set the stage singing nostalgic songs of yesteryears. Thereafter, as the participants of the Biocamp began their task of writing a business case, we sauntered to these stairs where the second round of songs began. The building's reflection on the dark water flickered a pastel sketch as tiny fish fingerlings make incessant ripples.
July 1990. Twenty years ago time had stood still for Dr Ferhat Anwar, a professor of Institute of Business Administration, Dhaka University, popularly known as Rahi Sir. Driving from Uttara to work at IBA in that early fateful morning, he had his father Lt Col Dr Bazlur Rahim, to drop off at the CMH, and his wife and toddler daughter who were to visit his mother in the city. It was drizzling and he was careful not to drive fast, especially as in those days. Road dividers did not exist. As he took the turn at what is today's Radisson Hotel, the last thing he saw was a couple of racing buses, neck to neck, rushing madly towards him from the Banani end. When he regained consciousness, he found himself in the CMH, bandaged, sedated and in pain, a world made eternally dark as he had lost both his eyesight.
Bleeding profusely, slumped unconscious on the steering wheel, Rahi's face and forehead had smashed into the windshield with glass splinters imprinted on his face and eyes. (Good reason why you should always wear your safety belt, he quips now.) His injured father struggled out of the crushed car, waving for passing cars to stop. None did, until an army jeep pulled over. Managing to say, “CMH”, his father collapsed. The jawans broke through the door to pull Rahi out and took the injured family to CMH. Giving a 10 percent chance of survival, an eight-hour emergency surgery managed to stem the blood flow, as the doctors extracted glass fragments and reconstructed Rahi's smashed face. As an afterthought, the doctors let his eyes remain for cosmetic reasons, knowing fully well that the eyes were beyond repair.
Three months later, his uncle got him admitted to a hospital in Glasgow, UK. The doctors extracted more glass pieces from his eyes in another long hours of surgery. As he regained consciousness and lay frustrated and irritated, he heard a male voice goading him to get up and wash. Rahi's roommate was a local who had lost his eyes to cancer and was patiently awaiting his inevitable and pronounced death. Rahi remembers this as a turning point in his life as the voice kept telling him, you have got to live on your own, no one can help you. Self-pity will consume and cripple you, this man reminded him. This triggered Rahi's vision to fully live again, never to look back at these crippling life events. As the eye dressing was removed, he could just see a blurred colour. Over time, he could 'see' blurred objects.
Returning back to Dhaka, he rejoined IBA to find out that there was talk of promotion to be an assistant professor. What was the unkindest cut of all was overhearing a colleague who was arguing with the board why Rahi should be considered at all for promotion, as he was blind, and a blind man was useless anyway. This further strengthened his determination to prove his mettle and that being blind was not a demerit in the pursuit of a career. Rahi had done his master's in biochemistry in 1981. Thereafter, he had joined Brac and was posted in Savar when he decided to complete his evening MBA from IBA. Six years in Brac and having successfully completed his MBA, he joined IBA in 1987.
Defying all odds, he continued to teach at IBA with tenacity. A friend called him up from Japan in 1993 asking Rahi to send in his papers, which were reviewed by an eye surgeon. Friends arranged his family's tickets as they took off for Japan wondering if this visit to the east will bring good news. His persevering wife and daughter took care of him as he recovered from another eight-hour surgery. As the bandage unfolded, his right eye could see 30 percent to 40 percent, the left still dark. With this vision, Rahi decided in 1994 to enrol on a PhD program, a year of which he had to stay in Canada, alone. He completed his year with a GPA of 4 of 4 and a gruelling 18 hours per day work-study load and eventually passed out with his doctorate degree.
2005. A colleague collected his medical file and sent it over to Singapore. Back came the reply, we can try. Another surgery. This time around, the first sight he got was of his mother who had accompanied him. With 90 percent vision of his left eye restored, he cried to see the beauty of his beloved mother with such clarity after all these years. His right eye has recovered 30 percent vision.
Reflecting on life, Rahi says he is indeed a blessed man to be alive, to see the world again, and to have caring friends and a loving and affectionate family. With a smile on his face, he says the event had actually benefitted him. He has been pushed to the limit of endurance and has come out much stronger as his quality of thinking has taken a great leap forward, adding on to academic excellence. It is our willingness to shape and live our lives as we pass through time, either to have lived with bliss or in despair. The choice is yours.

The writer is the managing director of Syngenta Bangladesh Ltd.