The waiting can stop
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IT was a subconscious wait at the Officers Club in Dhaka on November 29. The occasion was the Walima of the son of our friend Mujahidul Islam Selim. Shahidullah Khan Badal was already there by the time I reached. Soon Abul Fazal Mohammad Jamaluddin and Shawkat Hussain arrived with their wives. Sippi, who was visiting from the US, was also expected to join. Someone said Zaglul would also come, even if for a short while. We waited. At one stage Badal said Zaglul's wife was in bad health, in fact her condition had deteriorated. “Maybe we should check with Zaglul and visit them” he said. The absence of Alamgir Jafar, Shomu to most of us, hung heavy in the air. He had died of a massive heart attack a few days back. We all missed him. Somehow, everyone was waiting for Zaglul to join us.
The common thread between those of us who were there that evening and Zaglul and Shomu was that we all completed our SSC examination in 1965 and in the same year joined either Notre Dame or Dhaka College, the two premier colleges of Dhaka at that time. It was during that period that our friendship started to grow. Shomu was my friend from school days. He was very close to all of us and his sudden death was a major shock, it left a big void.
Jamal's wife Shyamoli, as if in admonishment, said: “You friends were so close at one time and still you don't spare time for each other any more. Poor Shomu bhai died virtually alone, none of you gave him enough time.” Her words were loaded, almost a premonition of what was to come.
I had gotten to know Zaglul during our college years through my cousin Dileer and some common friends, though we were not in the same college. We did not even share the same school. But as we got to know each other, we spent more time together. Ours was a time when chat sessions meant spending quality time together after classes at a tea stall in New Market or around the Gulistan area. Going to the movies at bargain prices either in Balaka or Gulistan or Naz was a favourite past time, as was watching football and cricket matches at the Dhaka Stadium. It was a time when there were no cell phones, text messages, emails or Facebook chats. Communicating meant not speed but endurance; it had a personal touch, a human face.
The thing that struck me most about Zaglul was his warm and affable personality. Getting along with him did not need much effort. He laughed heartily and mixed easily, would do everything to hold on to his friends. His friendship was unadulterated; there were no strings attached to it. Zaglul believed in enjoying life to the full and would take stress in stride. He would always go the extra mile for a friend. Zaglul would never let personal beliefs come in the way of friendship.
Our paths went separate ways when I left to join the Army towards the end of 1967. We did however manage to catch up whenever I came to Dhaka on breaks.
It was in post independent Bangladesh that Zaglul and I got much closer. We cherished each other's company and almost made it a point to spend as much time as we could together. It was after I joined the Foreign Service in 1974 and left on assignments abroad that our contacts had become infrequent and were limited to my holidays in Dhaka. But Zaglul being what he was, made sure that I was signed up at the Dhaka Club as his guest for the entire duration of my holiday as I had not yet become a member. The Club was already a major meeting point for friends.
Back to the evening of the 29th, I left the Walima a little after nine thirty. Sippi and his wife, accompanied by their daughter had arrived by then. Zaglul had still not shown up. They were still waiting for him. As I got close to home, Mahfuzullah, yet another close friend and a year mate, called me on my cell phone to give the heart breaking news of Zaglul's death a few moments ago. The circumstances of his death were still not clear as the TV news scroll only talked of a road accident near Karwan Bazar. I had just passed the place on the way home, not knowing that my dear friend's life had been snuffed out at that spot, yet another victim of a reckless killer bus driver. I called up Jamal at the Officers Club to tell him, and others who were still waiting for him, Zaglul would never come. The waiting can stop. Jamal's silence was deafening. Like the rest of us, he too was speechless. I then shared the sad news with Ali Anwar.
For me a sleepless night ended with me sending an email to Ahrar, who now lives in the US. Ahrar's shocked response was: “Oh my God. What is happening! First it was Tarique Shams, then Tarek Ahsan, then Shabbir Yusuf, then Shomu, and now Zaglul. Where will this list end?” I could not pick up the courage to tell Ahrar the list had just begun, and Zaglul was only the latest addition.
As the sun set on a dust-laden traffic clogged Dhaka city on December 1, Zaglul was laid to rest in Azimpur. It was now his turn to wait for us at the other half of eternity.
The writer is a Bir Bikram and a former Foreign Seretary.
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