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She would put on a burkha every morning so that choto chacha, my dad’s younger brother, could drop her off at her parents. He would take her to her college instead. That was how Quazi Anwara Monsur graduated. Dadi didn’t want her daughter-in-law to be getting an education, but Amma had the full support of Abba, my father. Her in-laws probably knew what was going on, but as long as Dadi’s authority was not directly challenged, Amma was quietly allowed to complete her studies.
Amma by her garden
Amma had made a mark upon her arrival from Kolkata to her in-laws in Faridpur. Word had gotten round that Monsur’s wife knew how to shoot a gun. She had many other skills too, and being a school teacher was also able to support the family. When Phupuabba (my father’s brother-in-law) died, the orphans were split up. Bhaijan and Rubi Bu came to live with us. Only my sister had been born then, and overnight a one child family became a three child family. They were difficult times. The family had come over to flee the riots in Kolkata and my father’s low paid government salary was simply not enough. Particularly as Abba and Amma insisted that all the children should have a good education. Amma’s teaching job, plus the extra income she made from marking exam papers wasn’t enough to keep the family going. She would buy wool from the market and knit sweaters to sell for extra income. Later Khaled Bhai was born and no other children were planned. In Amma’s words, I was an “accident.” Dadi, who had always been against her daughters-in-law going to work, saw the value of what Amma was doing and later it was Amma she used as an example to encourage her other daughters-in-law to get jobs.
Singing along with Amma
Mera Sunder Sapna, the song Amma loved to sing
Once they moved to Dhaka, Amma wanted to setup a school in Azimpur colony. No one was supportive, but that never stopped her. Buying a tent from Rafique Bhai for ten taka, she pitched it in the middle of Azimpur playground and set up Azimpur Kindergarten. Later, in its new name of Agrani Balika Biddalaya, the school and the college went on to become one of the finest educational institutions for girls in the country.
Amma teaching in the tent
New classrooms grew alongside the tent. There was a large classroom “The Pavilion” which even had brick walls. When a storm in sixties blew away the bamboo classrooms, Amma sat crying in the mud floor that remained. A guardian saw her from the veranda of their house and came over to comfort her. “Do you think it is only your school” he had said. “It belongs to all of us, and we’ll rebuild it.” They did. The guardians and the teachers and the children had organized cultural shows and other fund raisers. This time they were determined there were to be no more bamboo walls. Each classroom had a tin roof but the walls were made of bricks.
Many years later, Amma felt she needed qualifications in psychology to run her school better. She managed to get herself a scholarship to go to Indiana University, and eventually got herself a PhD in child psychology. That was the nature of the woman. Less than five feet tall, once this diminutive woman had decided on something, there was little that could stop her. This did not always make it easy on her children. Her standards were high, and those who failed to meet them, or like my brother Khaled, who felt there were other things to life, felt the brunt of her wrath. The dedicated teacher was not always the compassionate mother. Her public contributions won her the Rokeya Padak, a state award, but with the death of her son Amma paid a terrible price. The night before he took his life Khaled Bhai told me, “I am making things easier for you.” I had not understood the implications then. I was 14, he had just turned 21. It was a price we all paid.
Khaled Bhai
His death had mellowed Amma, and I got away with much that my brother would have been chastised for. Having lost one son, she became hugely protective of the other. After the 1971 war, Amma and I went over to Kolkata to smuggle my sister and her family out of the country. It was my first taste of India and Amma and I used the opportunity well. Kolkata was the cultural capital of India and we would see three films a day, and the occasional play. On our return to a free but unsettled Bangladesh, we found things were dangerous, and there were no set rules. Once, when I needed to negotiate with some hijackers who had stolen our car, this tiny woman insisted she would stay with me and be my bodyguard.
Amma and Rahnuma by Khaled Bhai’s grave
Her protectiveness had its own problems, and as an adult, when I rejected her choice of a homely bride and found a partner of my own, she did all in her power to break up our love. Rahnuma and I stuck together despite it. Though Amma later relented, our relationship had been severely tested, and came precariously close to breaking point. Amma was strong and feisty, and didn’t take being challenged too lightly. Plucky, headstrong, and hugely energetic, she nurtured whatever she loved with a passion. Till she was 80, she would go to college everyday, ensuring that it ran smoothly.
I had gone to UCLA for the Regents Lecture. It was in LA that I got Rahnuma’s message that Amma had been taken to hospital. Apamoni, the ever dutiful daughter, now a retired doctor in London, had rushed to Dhaka to nurse her. She told me that things were stable, and I needn’t hurry back. I went on to Florence where I was conducting a seminar. Rahnuma’s second message said Amma was slipping. It was a very long flight back. My nieces Mowli and Sofia got a last minute Emirates flight and we met up in Dubai. An hour’s delay at the airport, the delay at the luggage belt on reaching home and the rush hour traffic became unbearable as we wondered whether we would see her alive. Amma wasn’t going to give up that easily. She wanted us around, and her face glowed as she saw the three of us. Fariha, my youngest niece, arrived the next day.
Fariha
Amma at Sofia’s wedding
Amma and Mowli
Amma and Sofia’s husband David
My nieces got out the family album, and through the pain, she peered through the photographs. As she looked at a picture of me, Fariha asked “Who are you looking at?” The face broke into a smile. Frail, but distinctly a smile. It is wonderful how the tiniest of movements transforms a face. She whispered my nickname “Zahed”. Later as she strained to lift her hand to stroke me, Fariha joked, “Grandma, pull his beard.” Another smile and a whisper, “Beard?” Later when she stroked me again, Fariha repeated her joke. Another impish smile and the word “Pull?” Those were the last three words she ever spoke.
Apamoni, Rahnuma and Amma
Amma and DulabhaiApamoni had toiled ceaselessly to take care of her. Rahnuma had run ragged with errands, her grandaughters stayed up all night giving her water, changing her clothes, checking the oxygen pressure, coaxing her to eat and put on the nebuliser. Hameeda and Zohra both knew Amma well. They bathed her, combed her hair and nursed her, trying to interpret every gesture. Delower, whom Amma saw as a son, was omnipresent and kept the ship from sinking. Dulabhai, my brother-in-law, also a retired doctor, kept vigil from afar. But it was me that she longed for. This was not the time to dwell on patriarchal politics. I was losing a person who loved me beyond reason. With all my traveling, I had always wondered where I might be, when the time came. I needn’t have worried. Amma waited till I returned.
After many rainy days, with Chittagong in a deluge, the sun shone through this morning. Amma didn’t like 13. Saturdays were bad. Thursday was the best day of the week. At 8 this morning, Thursday, the 14th June, carefully sidestepping a 13 and a Saturday, with the sun glistening on her favourite champa tree, Amma chose to say goodbye.
She was 83. In those last few days, I saw my mother in a way I hadn’t before. I knew the softness of her skin, every little mark on her face, the shape of her tiny feet, the wrinkles on her fingers. As I carried her to the wheelchair, or moved her up the bed, I felt her weight against my body. I knew how it felt to be lovingly stroked by a hand that had barely the strength to move.
Amma and Abba
Her janaja was at the Takwa Masjid in Dhanmondi. My colleagues at Drik and Pathshala, our Out of Focus children did all that was needed. They would have borne my grief if they could. Many years ago, I had stood in the same mosque during Abba’s janaja, on an Eid day. We then went to her school. As the long line of students, teachers and well wishers from all over Azimpur walked past to take one last look at their beloved Boro Apa (big sister), I walked across to the classroom where I had studied. Through my tears, the benches and tables looked tiny now. Sitting on the bench and looking up at the blackboard I could hear Boro Apa’s footsteps on the corridor.
The grave in the New Azimpur Graveyard, had been bought in 1970, when Khaled Bhai had died. We had then bought three plots, for Amma, Abba and Khaled Bhai. The plot in the centre had been empty. I lowered Amma into the grave. She herself had bought the shroud and had it washed with Aab e Zam Zam, the holy water from Mecca, in preparation for this moment. The white shroud glistened against the dark clay. Our relatives and friends, Ammas students spanning sixty odd years, my own students and Amma’s numerous admirers were there. They carried the wooden Khatia, lit the incense, scattered rose water. They shared our loss.
I remembered the finality of the knot at the ends that I myself had tied. Neat rows of bamboo stakes were placed diagonally across the grave, shielding her body from the earth that was going to cover her. Bamboo mats were folded over the stakes that sealed her in. Then we all took turns to cover her with earth. After the munajat (prayers), as I walked away, I imagined my mother in between her husband and her elder son, reunited in death. I could hear them calling out to me ever so lovingly. “Zahed”.
Dhanmondi, Dhaka
14th June 2007.
Dear Zahed Bhai,.
As member of Service Civil International (SCI), we have had many occasions where we used to receive love, affection and guidance from our respected Apa (Quazi Anwara Monsur). We still remember those good days from her the then residence at outer circular road, Magbazar when she was the tresurer of Service Civil International-Bangladesh where we used to receive her affection, guidance, support, whenever needed.
On the eve of her sad demise, we pray for peace of her departed soul. May God rest her in iternal Peace.
We also pray to the almighty to give you strength so that you can sustain the greatest loss of your family.
Best regards
Nasir uddin Ahmed
Director
Gono Unnayan Prochesta (GUP)
dear shahidul,
you have been most fortunate to have such a wonderful
woman as your mother. thank you for sharing this with
me. latha jishnu, delhi
Dear Zahed,
Thank you for that moving tribute.
No matter how old parents are and no matter how prepared one is that they will leave one day, one is really never prepared. My deepest sympathies.
Niaz
Alam Bhai;
Amar o amader pakshya theke apnake o apnar paribarer sokarta sobaike antorik somobedona. Amar khub dukhkho hochchhe je ami gotokaler age jante parini Ma chole gechhen. Gotkal ami phone korechhilam eta dhore niye je apni ager porikolpona moto Kushtia gieyechhen kintu pore Anis shaheber kachhe janlam Ma ar nei. Zahok eta bastob, ami bishwas kori apni apnar probol manoshik shokti diye shok katiye uthben.
‘Sarbe satta sukhita hontu sarbe satta niramaya’.
With thanks and regards
arup
Arup K Biswas
Senior Adviser, Development Affairs
Royal Norwegian Embassy, Dhaka
Dear Bro
You have had a GOD’S GIFT.
Your Amma must have been a satisfied person for her achievements.
GOD BLESS YOU ALL.
Arun More
Dear Zahed Bhai,
Sorry for your loss. Our thoughts and prayers are with you during this difficult time.
Regards,
Ehtesham (Shumon)
i feel deeply sorry for you. your mother was the principal of the school i went to. she didn’t actually teach our class. but she was one of those rare personalities who fill the space surrounding them with a warm and quiet presence.
even though i was always too shy to go and tell her how much i admire ner, maybe she can hear me now, now that she is in heaven.
Dear Shahidul,
Sincere condolences from myself and also on behalf of my family.
She sounds like a great woman.
Love and wishes to you.
Dear Shahidul
Deeply sorry to hear the passing of Amma. I am relieved that you were able to reach Dhaka on time to see her before the end. Please accept both Syeda and my sincerest sympathies and condolences. Our love to Rahnuma and your sister and other members of your family. We are in Chicago visiting family and will write to you afyer we return to LA.
Robin
PS I am copying other LA friends
Dear Shahidul and family,
I am sorry to hear of the loss of your mother. Your tribute shares with us who didn’t know her what an inspiring woman she was and her memory will give light to the future. Thank you for sharing her life with us.
with respect and warm regards for your mother’s memory—
Mary Kao
A very loving tribute. Your mother was certainly strong, protective, and obviously loved you. You are lucky to have experienced so many years with her and to be with her on that last sunlit day.
Thanks for letting us know about your return and this important turning point in your life.
Russell C Leong
Dear Shahidul:
We met briefly several years ago at a conference in Malaysia. We shared a drink together with another women, a colleague/friend of yours I believe. I was attending as a staff person with IMPACS a nonprofit in Vancouver, BC, Canada. Attached is a picture of my young daughter and I in case that helps you remember.
Over the years I have cont’d to receive your emails. I’m writing to share my sympathy at your mother’s passing. Your words are very moving.
Ah, the pain and the beauty of love, family, living.
My best to you,
Michelle Pante
This is the most beautiful and loving obituary I’ve read.
Dina Mahnaz Siddiqi
MY SINCEREST CONDOLENCES
” ZAHED ”
ANWAR HOSSAIN
Straight from the heart, a tribute to a great woman, mother of us all.
I K Shukla
dear shahid
i had kept this to read later and finally decided to read it while having my lunch today.
i am so sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. i had of course never met her yet your words made my eyes most, having lost my father when i was 18 i got transported to that very sad period of my life.
this is a very difficult time for you and i dont expect a reply. just know that someone who considers you a friend will be thinking of you.
take care of yourself shahid. u will need a lot of time and that is the only cure – not to forget but for the grief to lessen and acceptance to set in.
best
altamash
Dear Zahed,
It is truly courageous of you to have written this.
Long ago, when we used to live near rd 24, dhanmandi,
i remember I think seeing ur father,( beacuse my dad
used to say thats dr mansur) the house , now drik,
going up, brick by brick. If i am not mistaken, he
told my dad, that he was doubtful about the regular
bricks used in buildings back then , and wanted to
have his treated in a certain way. Wonder if my memory
serves me right, and strange what odd things we
remember.I dont remember much else, but plants and
trees in the plot. I didnt know about your brother.She
really was a tough woman.
So are you and rahnuma for standing up for ur love and
what u believed in.
This has been an incredibly hectic week, sabha,
samiti, this that.The day of the kul khwani, i went to
see my chachi who was lying inert in birdem after 10
yrs of suffering and immobility from arthritis, and
then finally now, cancer. After that i picked up
another sick friend from birdem and reached her to
savar where she lives so she cud avoid a bus
trip.Naturally my thoughts were on death and the
suffering that human flesh is heir to. On the face of
it, my chachi who looked exactly like hasan’s brother
habib who died of cancer, at 40, seemed to have wasted
away. Habib, however had had a full life as painter
and friend and husband and father. My chachi? Alone,
her son away for decades in the us, her husband always
away somewhere, no career, few friends, nothing beyond
watching tv and gazing out the window. A once
beautiful woman , aged at most 70.My chachi’s elder
sister however by the grace of God, is still lovely
active and one of the people/women i most admire. she
too loves me for reasons i cant fathom, and has the
ability to spread a sort of ‘grace’. Some lives can
be rich, and others not so much.
Now, down with flu and fever, i am responding to ur
letter with the first thoughts that are coming to
mind. We are lucky if in this very sad world: our
lives are active, rich , full; we are surrounded by
near and loved, loving ones for the greater part and
at the time of leavetaking ( cant utter the other word
somehow); and if the end is…as one says in bangla,
‘sheshta jeno hoi sundar’.
Best, sonia
I feel for your lost. My thoughts are with you and your family. As my thoughts are every day with my father who passed twelve years ago. Best, Jude Jansen
Dear Shahidul
Lyndall has told us the sad news about your mother – I am so, so sorry and wanted to send you my deepest sympathy and condolences. I have read, in tears, what you have written and she was obviously an extraordinary lady who loved you with all her heart. My own parents have both passed away and I truly believe that they choose their time when they have done and said all that wanted to, as your mother did.
With love
Sarah
Sarah Molloy
Head of Communications
Concern Worldwide (UK)
Dearest Shahidul
I am so sorry to hear of your great loss – If you were here – I would hug you and kiss you on both cheeks and say I wish you a long life , this is always said to the bereaved by Jewish people to those who are left behind, who in the midst of pain and loss, must continue to embrace life.
Your beautiful honest and moving account of your Mother, was a privilege to share and my thoughts are with all your family at this sad time. Your Mothers strength kept her going till you returned to her, and I give thanks that you could share her last moments with your family and loved ones.
Please do not worry about your visit, all other things can wait for now.
Deepest sympathy and much love
Lyndall
My dear Shahidul
I cannot tell you how deeply touched I was to read your tribute. What a life!
What it must have been to be so close, to have so much between you!
I share your grief.
Warmly
Vickram
I am deeply moved by your loss and a story of courage and convictions borne so simply on frail shoulders of mothers of another generation. We in these high times of plenty and indispensable technology can hardly aspire to stand alone and be counted. I am happy that you grew up with your mother’s beliefs and strengths. Look after yourself and my best to your family in these passing days of sadness and reflection. All good wishes, monisha
Allah khalamma k Beheste nasib karun, amin!
Ahsan Chowdhury
Dear Shahid Bhai
I was very sad to learn that your mother passed away on 14th June. I read your musing twice and was thinking how lucky you were to have jsut an amazing woman for a mother.
June is also the month that took both my parents away from me/us. I lost my father on 13th and mother on 18th June 1998.
The loss is not something I overcame or accepted but learnt to live with. I refuse to think my parents are gone, especially my mother, so I reach out to her in many ways.
I hope you have the strength to bear this loss and can reach out to her.
I am back in Dhaka and will come and see you when it is convinient to you.
Farah
Dear Shahidul – very moving & a fitting tribute . . .
This is what I compiled in tribute to my father when he passed away, somehow finding the strength to stand before all the in-laws & out-laws to pay tribute to him at the funeral:
for Lt. Cdr, Donald ‘Bobby’ Thomas Watts, RN Retd., 1921 – 2001
To bid farewell to Bobby – devoted husband to Marjorie, a generous father, the ‘funnest’ of grandfathers (as one of our children so fondly described him), elder brother and, to so many, a good friend.
Over the last ten days Marjorie has received many thoughtful letters of condolence and tributes, and I would like to read two to you which provide some measure of the man.
The first is from John Mardon, a school chum from Barking Abbey days in the 1930’s . . . .
“I shall always remember with gratitude the friendship that Donald gave to me, John Penny and Harold Valentine and to many others – Donald was always full of energy & fun. However, his honesty and integrity were perhaps what we valued most of all”
& from ‘Dizzy’ Gillespie Robertson, a junior shipmate in HMS Warrior where my father served as Fleet Navigator in the 1950’s:
“ ‘The Navigator’ was somebody quite special to us. How on earth he managed, in addition to his many more serious duties, to educate, inspire, watch over and generally demonstrate so much thoughtfulness and kindness to a bunch of green and somewhat undisciplined young midshipman – that every one of us thinks of him with both admiration and affection is something of a miracle. Our subsequent operation and cruise was the experience of a lifetime, and Donald was an unforgettable part of it for me personally”
My father, or ‘daddy’ as he preferred to be called, was a man of extraordinary self will and great courage – none more so than in these last two difficult years of his life whilst fighting cancer. He was a man who demanded the highest of standards – standards which, unfortunately for those of us closest to him, we rarely met.
However, my fondest memories of Bobby are of a man who was at his best in good company, with his quick wit & humour and seemingly endless number of stories from a long, active and interesting life – it is for this, as in so many other things, that Bobby will be sorely missed.
In contrast my father was a very private man, modest in his achievements and never one to burden others with his troubles, pain or fears.
And so, in closing, I would like to read to you a poem which I discovered last week amongst his papers, a poem that he wrote during these last two years and which was published in a local anthology called ‘Songs in the Silence’ (United Press Ltd. East Anglian Edition ISBN 1-902803-15-9).
In this he introduces himself as . . . ‘an elderly naval officer whose entire working life and long retirement have been spent on or by the sea; this and my extended family have had the greatest of influences upon me. Memories of Coromandel, a beautiful part of the North Island of New Zealand inspired “an old crustacean fossil” to put pen to paper and leave something of a romantic inner self behind.’
COROMANDEL (OR ROMANTIC THOUGHTS)
Coromandel!
That name
Tugs at the heart,
Evocative almost to tears,
Redolent of sun and surf and silver sand,
Of sea-wreck, shells and sweet samphire.
And the fragrance, oh! The fragrance
Of the magical, mystical margins of sea & shore,
Heady as strong wine,
That gripped me first in boyhood
And held me fast till now,
When the tide of memory comes flooding in
Searching out every creek and cranny of the mind.
Donald Watts, King’s Lynn
Of further interest is the fact that, whilst Donald served in the Royal Navy during the second world war, he spent time on an escort ship working the Russian Convoys. The first headland that he would see upon returning to Britain after each dangerous voyage would be that where the Old Hunstanton Lighthouse is to be seen today. At the time he said to my Uncle, John Sturgess, ‘when this is all over, I would like to live there’ . . . . . . some 30 years later he was able to fulfil this dream when he and my mother bought Coastguard Cottage in Lighthouse Close, living there for the rest of his days
. . . . and to think I did not hear of this until after he had left us!
Best, Rowan
Alom Vhai,
Prithibite olpo kichu manush tahke jara ter kajer modhe beche theke, amader ridoye beche theke. Khalamma tader modhe onnotomo.
Naymuzzaman Prince
prio shobai,
shokal belai Amin er phone, Alam bhai er ma mara gachen.uni osusto chelen ami jantam na, ami janlei ba ki hoto. ses bedai er jonno motorcycle neya chutlam Drik-a.
Mon kharap kora porebesh. shobai kamon jano chupchap.Drik jano ak mora-bari.Khalam-mar
ses jatrar kichu chobi nerobe tulte thaklam. Moti bollo,” das hajar taka (10,000) deya wheel chair kena hoyachelo kinto khalama sai chai ar babohar kora holo na.
Shahidul alam tar ma,r Lash(dead body) khadha neya bareya aslen drik thake. Khalammar ai bareya asa choro din er jonno ar kono din ferben na Drik-a.
Takooa mosjid er sur jano vesha uthlo “subahanaka innela-e-laha yellah-anta ye kuntum menaj joyalamin . . . ”
-monir
My Dear Shahidul,
I have had a very hectic week and have only just managed to read your blog. Your post about your mother’s demise made me feel so sad. I wish there was something I could do to make it easier for you. There was a time I used to tell friends who lost a parent that I couldn’t possibly relate to how they felt because no-one could possibly imagine the pain of losing someone as special as a father or mother. I no longer say that.
My mother passed away just over 4 years ago and although I was fortunate enough to be with her every moment of her last days in hospital, I can still remember how completely alone I felt when she died. No-one gives you the kind of unconditional love that a mother does. My mother was such a sweet and special person. She was there for us at every stage of our lives offering solace, celebrating our successes, sharing our joys and shedding tears and offering support when she saw us in pain or anguish. Even with the passage of time there isn’t a single thing that happens in my life that doesn’t bring her to mind. She continues to live in my heart and she always will.
Reading your account of your mother’s life and the special moments you shared prior to her death, shows me what a special and accomplished woman she was and how proud you were of her. The heartbreak of losing her must be tearing away at you. All I can say is try and celebrate her life and that will perhaps make it a little easier to bear her death.
When I am at my lowest, I try and remember the good times I had with my mother – and there were many. I try to remember the jokes we shared, the stories we exchanged, the discussions we had, the special moments that brought us closer and kept us close. These thoughts bring to mind her happy and peaceful face and it makes me smile and gives me some peace.
My thoughts are with you at this difficult time in your life. You are a wonderful caring person and your mother must have been so proud to have a son who made a difference in the lives of so many people around him. She will continue to live in you and in the people she helped through her work.
Take care of yourself.
Affectionately yours,
Jehan Ara
Alam bhai
I never read such a great tribute by a Bengali son to her mother. I ralmost cried reading The Last Goodbye.
With regards,
Shafiqul Alam
Correspondent
AFP, DHAKA
Priyo Shahidul,
Please accept my heartfelt condolences on the loss of your mother. Your essay about her loss was touching and warm — a suited tribute to a mother’s love. She would be proud and pleased to have read it.
Warmly and with all my sympathy,
Sarah/Sally/Shelly
–
S. L. Bachman
POB 627
La Honda, CA 94020
Inna lillahe wa inna elahey rajeoon!
[We belong to God and indeed to God we return!]
Dear Shahidbhai and all your immediate and extended family members:
Please accept my condolences on the sad and (always) untimely demise of your beloved mother.
May she rest in peace!
And may God give you (all) patience and fortitude to endure the loss.
Aameen!
With Best Wishes, always …
Mahdi (aka: JIA)
priyo Shohidul,
14 tarikh ratey Khalamma’r dehanter khobor pai. Dhaka theke phone kore janan ekjon.
02 June apnar jonmodiner porei ekta shubhechchha-barta pathanor kotha mathai chhilo. hoye otheni. khanikta apnar byastotar kotha bhebe. khanikta amar internet option prai nei bollei chole shejonno. er modhye ei khobor peye apnake likhtei chaichhilam. kintu konorokom bhasha khuje paowa duruho chhilo. er modhye worldpress network-e apnar lekhata email-e pelam. Khalamma ke niye lekha. onek rokom tukro smriti nara dichche. asha kori apni shob kichhu shamle niye nijer kajer modhye achhen. jemon ta chhilen eto gulo bochhor.
bhalobasha janiye
microwave (Manosh Chowdhury)
Devi Park, R.Gopalpur, Kolkata [Uttor 24 Pargana], India
Dear Shahidul
I remember meeting her on my trip to dhaka..there’e
not much one can say, but your friends are with you
love
tehmina
Tehmina Ahmed
Dear Mr.Shahidul Alam:
I would like to recall the services offered by Principal Anwara Manur at Azimpur Kindergarten School to use Veranda and courtyard during holidays for Azimpur Kachi-Kanchar Mela. It was my pleasure to include her in the advisory board of the Kachi-Kanchar Mela.From this Mela Papya Sarwar, renowned Rabindra Sangeet Shipi and Abdus Salam, presently Chief Architect of the government of Bangladesh, came out. Both of them were budding artists in 1962.
Last I saw Anwara Mansur as Chairman of Shishu Academy.
Possibly I met you at Drik some time in 90′s.
I am deeply saddened and shocked to hear the death of Anwara Mansur. May Allah grant her peace on the departed soul? My prayers are with the members of Anwara Mansur’s family.
Sincerely,
Mohammad Amjad Hossain, former Bangladesh diplomat residing in Virginia,USA
Dear Shahidul,
I’m so sorry to hear about your mother. I remember meeting her at one of our board meetings in Colombo — she was such fun and such a spirited lady! You will miss her immensely, but I guess all of us have to face this someday even if it doesn’t make it any easier. My deepest condolences to you and your family….
Lots of love,
Mitu
Mitu Varma
Director, Panos Institute India
Dear Mr Shahidul/
I know how little the words of an outsider mean to you just now-but I must
tell you how deeply I sympathise with you in your great loss.
-
brgds.
Mizanur Rahman Pavel
Spouse of Nasrin Khandoker/Anthro-JU
Dear Shahidul,
I’m very touched by your words. Your mother was a very important person and it’s certain that she has left a lot behind.
I would like to express my deepest condolence to you.
With love
Simon
Simon Haller
Shahidu….Oh I am so very sorry ..i wrote to you yesterday without reading the contents..something made me write to you when I saw your name..put aside the contents thinking it was a journalistic piece that i would read later.
I just went through your heart wrenching account of what you experienced, wept reading at the most beautifully expressed piece..full of love, your grief and pain pouring from every word. Your mother sounds like an incredible woman and now i understand where you got your genes from.
We love you very much, take care of yourself.
Lots of love, please accept Akeel and my condolences.
Noorjehan
Noorjehan Bilgrami
Dear Dr. Alam,
I finished reading the piece about your mother and I am still crying while I write to you. It reminded me of my mother who died on May 01, 2004.
Thank you for making us aware what a great lady your mother was.
Regards
Tanvir
(Dr. Tanvir A. Khan
Registrar
IUB)
Dear Shahidul
Very much appreciated your tribute to your mother – so full of love
and understanding, and also a story of woman-power. It explains a lot
about who you are and why you are. I really enjoyed getting to know
her, even if only posthumously and from a distance. She reminded me a
little of my own dadi – tiny, but very powerful – and disapproving of
my father’s choice in marrying my mother, who eventually did win her
over.
bhalo!
love
beena
–
Beena Sarwar
Fellow
Carr Center for Human Rights Policy,
Kennedy School of Government
Dear Shahidul,
I have seen your mother on several occasions and once or twice I had a chance to talk to her. I am very much moved by your description and it took me to my own memory lane…..
Please except my heart-full condolence.
Best regards,
Fuad
Dear Alam Bhai,
Your Shahidulnews just reached my hand.My condolences to you and to your family members.We knew how much your mother ment to you.
Mustafa Bhai called on Thursday and informed about passing away of your mother.He also
informed that her Namaz-E- Zanaza is going to be held with in 45 munites.I rushed though Dhanmondi Mosque but could not join her Zanaja as it already been performed before my arrival.
Last month Mustafa Bhai & I went to Drik to see an exhibition.When we were coming back,
Mustafa Bhai knocked at your office and came to know that you are not in Bangladesh. Then Khallama invite us for a cup of tea.She expressed many things about her and her family.She told us she likes the backyard graden to spend her morning there.She was
a strong women at the age of 89 .Her thoughts and beliefs ware a clear sign of that.
We can do nothing but pray for the departed sole.May Allah be kind enough to allow
her in Jannah.
Thank you & take care.
Best regards
Rashed Ahmed
photographer
Dear Shahidul
I only just heard about the loss. And this is a very touching tribute.
When the memories are so rich, no one truly leaves.
Kunda
Kunda Dixit
Shahidul,
I was very moved by this. You have been much in our thoughts and prayers over the past few days.
David and Rosanne
My deepest condolences. May God give you and your family the strength to withstand this loss.
i wish every son can love his mother this much.
Dear Zahed chacha,
Boro dadi was the mother figure baba had since Rubi fuppi and he moved in with boro dada and dadi. With 4 younger siblings, he was only 10 years old then. Most of baba’s childhood stories I have heard are from the times he was living with Dipu fuppi, Khaled chacha, Rubi fuppi and you. Boro dadi was also the closest mother-in-law figure amma had. I remember the ritual of going to meet boro dada and dadi every Friday morning with baba, when I was in school. Every body I know who have been nurtured at boro dadi’s household are remarkable human beings. Her memories and inspiration remain within all her children, grandchildren, and numerous lives she helped.
Shobhon.
Melbourne, Australia.
Dear Dipu Phuppi/ Zahed Chacha,
So many of my childhood and teen age memories are associated with Boro Dada/Dadi and their’s and your homes. And all those memories are good memories. Thank you all for your love and the time you spent with us.
Many of my cousins were afraid of Dadi- afraid if they wore some fancy dress/makeup/high hills! I never heard one harsh word from her. I think somehow she treated me special. When I got admitted to BUET, she gave me one of her own jewelry, a very nice, 1/2 cm thick gold chain, with design that we dont see any more. I have that chain with me, and each time I wear/see it, I fondly remember Dadi.
Boro Dada/Dadi will always be part of me. I hope and pray that their good souls find eternal peace.
Tumpa
Houston, TX, USA
apnar post porar por amar ma-yer kotha monay porlo.
“They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.”
Dear Shahidul Bhai,
We are deeply sorry to hear the passing of your Amma. Please accept our sympathy and condolences.Our love to other members of your family.
” To Allah belongs what He takes and to Him belongs what He gives.And there is a set time by Him for everything. Do exercise patience and expect reward(from Allah).”
Take Care,
Zeba and Zubair