Remembering a dear friend

Serajul Haque Kazi, more popularly Sipi to all his friends and countless well-wishers, passed away in the early morning of February 13 at his brother-in-law's Lalmatia home. Jessy, his life partner of more than four decades was beside him. He died quietly in his sleep.

Sipi and Jessy had come to Dhaka from their Boston abode about a fortnight before that and had planned to spend time with friends and family in Bangladesh. Like he always does, Sipi called his close friends shortly after he landed in Dhaka to make his presence known and said he was looking forward to meeting up once he was settled in. He apprised me of his health conditions, saying his vision had become seriously impaired and he felt weak and unusually tired. Little did I know then that that was to be the last time I would talk to my dear friend of fifty-two years. 

When news of Sipi's passing spread, we, his friends, were lost for words, frozen in disbelief, saddened immensely that Sipi was no more.

Anybody that had known him well would also know that Sipi embodied sincerity at its best and valued friendship in its purest form. Helping others was second nature to him and he did so selflessly. Of the so many Bangladeshis who had been to Boston over the years, either to visit, study or work, very few among them would not have had the pleasure of enjoying the warm hospitality and friendship that Sipi and Jessy offered at their apartment in Boston that they, and their loving daughter Paula, had made their home for twenty seven long years. The flood of messages that flowed from all across America on Sipi's death and the glowing tributes paid at his Doa Mehfil on Friday is testimony to how much he was loved and how much he would be missed.

I first met Sipi in 1965 when we were first year intermediate students in Notre Dame College in Dhaka. He had come from Saint Gregory's High School. Within days we became friends. This extended to the cricket field as both of us played for the Press Club team in the Second Division of Dhaka's famed Cricket League. He was the opening bowler for the Club while I opened the batting. Over time our bonding gelled and was to transcend a lifetime. Sipi went on to teach at Boston's prestigious Northeastern University. Passage of time and the challenges of distance notwithstanding, we managed to remain in touch, even if it was just to say hello.

From what one heard from Jessy, it seemed that Sipi had a premonition that this trip to Bangladesh would be his last journey. Before they left Boston for Dhaka, Sipi called his uncle, Mama, in London and expressed his wish to be buried on his Nana's grave in Banani when he died. In fact, he and Jessy spent part of the Friday before last at the Banani graveyard offering Fateha for all of their elders who are buried there. He spent a few extra minutes at his Nana's grave, as if making preparations for his own final resting place. Barely a week passed before Sipi was buried at that the very place he had wished to be. Our friend had indeed come home for his eternal rest.

May you Rest in Peace, Sipi.

The writer is former Foreign Secretary of Bangladesh.