Often he would lament how the wrong policies of the rulers had disenfranchised the minds of the East Pakistani Bengalis
Nazarul Islam
When a loved one passes away, the intensity of shock triggers rippled waves of grief. To most of us, the event is life’s unforgettable, shocking moment —the harbinger of a heart breaking separation. The moral of my story: All people die, yet not all people live! Do they really fade away?
My loving, caring patron and well-wisher of the past, Mirza Nasir Hossain (MNH) had lived a full life! He had packed so much of this into his many eventful decades as a mentor, colleague, benefactor, a dedicated husband, a devoted parent, an educator and above all a genuine friend. I can vouch with certainty, that he displayed a genuine interest in the welfare, education and progress of so many young people that he met or had known.
He never forgot names. He was soft spoken, and graceful, always chipping in, a word or two of fond advice. Time and tide do take the toll of even the wisest and the bravest. Even during his weak and painful moments, I am sure, Nasir Bhai had the heart to laugh at his critics who fallaciously saw his impact and influence receding with age. I had last met him in 2012, at his Nazimabad home. He had lost weight, and looked feeble. Yet his vibrant voice recoiled intensely to keep the conversation going loud. He wanted to know how I had fared in life. I defended myself: ‘I have moved on. I live and work in the US’. It was a painful goodbye.
He was mindful of a silent struggle for freedom floating in the backwaters of the mighty rivers Padma and Meghna
My close proximity with him had enabled me to observe his preferences. I was inspired by his unending struggle against hypocrisy and how in all his dispositions, he had valued time. He wanted himself and his followers get things organized and finish work, in time. He had traveled to Europe, USA and the world, chased his dreams, engaged with people, and debated hotly in the backdrop of most burning issue of those times—the rising anarchy in East Pakistan. He was mindful of a silent struggle for freedom floating in the backwaters of the mighty rivers Padma and Meghna.
Often he would lament how the wrong policies of the rulers had disenfranchised the minds of the East Pakistani Bengalis, who continued to live in disbelief a thousand miles away. Could they have been the fateful children of a lesser god? Nasir Bhai was a patron of learning and skills, and blessed with God’s gift of foresight. Yet he never refrained from putting one foot in front of the other, battling what he knew from the start—a war against those who could not appreciate the rise of a hard working ‘west Pakistani’, in good light. At the end of the day, he had mixed with his Bengali friends, which he always did with grace, dignity, integrity and courage.
One of his favorite haunts was Dacca’s famous ‘Casbah’ restaurant, located in Jinnah Avenue. This was a noisy place visited by the city’s educated elitists which offered good food and ‘chai’. It boasted of people who spoke their minds, politics, economics and ideologies and freely outpoured their rage as debates progressed through the stages of public tolerance. Almost every day, the conversation here had focused on how the largest province of the country was being denied their due share, compared to their Muslim brothers in the West Pakistan. Nasir Bhai’s closest friends were Bengalis.
When sentiments got awry and overheated at the Casbah, and slips of tongue had got the better share of grievances and outbursts, he somehow knew it was time for intervention. He would wink at Burro Bhai, a highly educated and well versed local landlord who would then tactfully step in, in his bid to lower the temperature with his sweet and sour interpolations, cracks and jokes while good old Nasir Saheb footed the bill for the best of the noisy participants. In no time, the crowd would disperse, till the next gathering, the next outbursts and the consequent interventions. Wasn’t he a great peacemaker, on his own accord and at his own cost?
Nasir Bhai was humble and down to earth, a man of true merits which were further marked by his love for his family, particularly his son and daughter, his love of marsias, and devotional music. Obviously, this had included life-long love of learning, his love of better Chinese cuisine, his acceptance of everyone and refusal to judge or dismiss anyone, his enjoyment of good company and of hearing and telling stories.
In his rather happy time on this earth, Nasir Bhai’s journey was like a rock thrown into a lake – sending ripples ever outward into the future. Your addiction doesn’t define you. He was an avid reader, a writer, a traveler, an orator, an educator, a thinker and above all a never-say-die community well-wisher. He simply loved good ideas, and his friendships and family had ignited the hearth that was his heart!
Each one of us who knew him, had liked him in more ways than one. The end of Nasir Bhai’s life has portrayed death truthfully. He died in the middle of his life, in the middle of a sentence.
Sadly, without Mirza Nasir Hossain, our lives became empty and my small world has become immensely poor.
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The Bengal-born writer Nazarul Islam is a senior educationist based in USA. He writes for Sindh Courier and the newspapers of Bangladesh, India and America. He is author of a recently published book ‘Chasing Hope’ – a compilation of his articles.
