Kaiser Bhaiya: A family icon
To the world at large, he was popularly known as Kaiser. To the younger brothers and sisters in the family, he was Kaiser Bhaiya, at once loved, revered, and even feared in our younger days. But, as the years went by, he grew more caring and affectionate, bridging the chasm of difference in age, with grace and fondness.
October 9, 2010 saw the end of a long journey for this family icon. His chequered career, his long legacy of public service, his multi-dimensional talents, will be tough to match. He was passionate in what he believed, a master politician, a born leader. When he came into a room, he was instantly the centre of attraction. He was always full of insights. When he spoke, we listened, most often with rapt attention, even when we were not in full agreement. He was simply hard to ignore, at home and outside. His conviction was unwavering; his faith in the Almighty unshaken till his last breath. He lived and died a proud man. He stood tall, dark and handsomein life, and in death.
Those early years are still fresh in my memory. I was easily awe struck by his grace, style, and imposing demeanour. He always dressed impeccably, in the most stylish of clothes.
History is replete with instances where Chittagong led a national uprising, be it against the British or the Pakistanis. So it was in 1970-71. Without the least hesitation he gave leadership to the mobilisation efforts in Chittagong leading up to the military crackdown. In the aftermath of March 25, 1971, he gave up the luxury of a comfortable life in Bangshal Bari and departed with Nilu Bhabi and baby daughter, Sanya, wandering from village to village in remote areas on the borders of Chittagong and Myanmar. During this period he was instrumental in assembling a massive liberation force of young cadres who fought valiantly within the Mukti Bahini. It was not surprising that he always had a huge following among the up and coming young cadres of politicians in the AL fold. At his funeral, they came in droves, by the thousands.
He was close to Bangabandhu and to his daughter, the current prime minister. He rose high in the political hierarchy by dint of his sincere commitment to the party agenda from which he would never deviate. Politics and public service was what motivated him always, not pecuniary gain. As a senior member of the AL Presidium, he was well respected for his selfless devotion to the party. During the two-year interregnum of the caretaker government, he was among those who displayed unflinching faith in the democratic process and never wilted in his support for his leader, Sheikh Hasina. It surprised me, but he was one who believed his party could do no wrong. So he was occasionally frustrated when things did not go his way. As I observed him from close quarters, I had to respect his courage of conviction. He could have enriched himself enormously, but he didn't. He could have lobbied for all kinds of position of gain, but he didn't. His only stint with the government was his tenure as Bangladesh Ambassador in Moscow and Seoul.
I knew how much he valued friendship. I reckon there was no other pastime that he enjoyed more than a cheerful adda. He was always warm, and accessible to his friends. He would go out of his way to put in a good word for a friend.
The sad demise of Nilu Bhabi only a year ago was a blow he had not recovered from. The few times I met him since, I realised he was not his old self. I found him pensive and even reclusive. During his last days, I had the privilege of spending as much time with him as I could take out of my heavy commitments. Somehow, I had a premonition that the end was near. As he lay in bed at the Apollo Hospital, following his return from surgery in Bangkok, I found him feeling so helpless. He was recovering from the wounds he sustained in a car accident while en route to attend the funeral of a party colleague in Cox's Bazaar. For a man of thought and action, I found this state of inactivity, of convalescence, far too restraining. For a lifelong warrior, this was no state to be in. I could sense that in every little movement of his. To cheer him up I dialed the numbers of many of his friends he was eager to speak to.
In those last days, as he lay in his hospital bed, he would repeatedly say "I would like to go and die in Chittagong." That was not in jest. He meant what he said, like always.
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