Our longtime friend Manju to us and Monzurul Huq to the world was recently in town to hold a photography exhibition in Bangladesh. He lives in Japan but visits Dhaka regularly. The exhibition was meant to showcase the works of a Japanese photographer who had taken pics of Bangladesh in the earlier days soon after its birth.

The photographer lost his life in Vietnam - then under the Khmer Rouge - in situations unknown. Manju lives in Tokyo with his family - his wife Yumiko, his daughter Maya and her child- and his heart is parked there. But we in Bangladesh also have a claim on that bit of him, of his growing years, his work life as it began and most of all our shared memories as friends. So he comes here too.

We had met in Dhaka College in 1969, to us the best batch of students ever. Manju was always the nicest person around, the ever smiling good-heart. He was already active in Bangladesh Student's Union politics and would hawk their bulletins to students.

Unfortunately for him, though his party was well regarded, most students of Dhaka College were supporters of the Student's League so his paper didn't do too well. I would feel rather bad, not for his pro-Moscow politics but Manju the paper boy and bought a bulletin once or twice. I would ask him, how his paper was doing. He would smile widely and say, "Great".

1971 and post 1971

Manju was involved closely with the war- a story he recounts in his excellent book which we reviewed too. But something else also happened. Through the kindness of fate, his old loyalty holders -Pro-Russian Students Union -had chosen the winning side and after the war the Soviet Union was happy to offer scholarships to study there. Manju was one of them who were selected.

While students in Dhaka College we were very active literary wise and even formed a group under the "tyrannical" leadership of our friend Hasan Ferdous Sadi whose real name was Gholam Dastagir which he never used publicly. He considered it too common. Many of us were part of it including the late Khan Md. Farabi, Manju, Wasi Ahmed, Toufiq Khan Mazlish and a few more.

Two friends who were close to us all but not so arty were Shahdeen Malik, the legal maestro and Enayetullah Khan, the Editor of the Dhaka Courier. These two and Manju had another thing in common - they all came from Laboratory School of Dhaka, then Bangladesh's brainiest school challenged by few except maybe St, Gregs from which came Chandan or Abdur Rahim Chowdhury, an academic in the US who came or the cadet colleges. There were others close friends such as Shahinshah Rizvi, the loudest rowdiest kid in town and who after all these years is still the same.

So there, that sort of shows who we were when we began this mixed bag of friendship. Manju, Sadi and Shahdeen went off to Russia while we stayed behind and joined Dhaka University. Enayet became involved in commercial activities early on but his interest in the media remained strong. Wasi and I became literary fellow travellers while Rizvi as expected screamed and shouted a lot regularly for no reason whatsoever. And there it was, July 1972.

July 2024

Manju contacted me and his other friends recently to invite us to the exhibition and I was looking forward to it. The exhibit was very interesting but I was truly more keen on meeting him again. He had visited a few months back but we missed each other so it was an eager week for me. As fate would have it, the country was gripped by turmoil and violence and the exhibition was beyond attending circumstances. Now I wonder if we shall meet once more or even if it's one last time.

Last meetings are a reality for us as we have crossed the 70s or crossing. For those of us who are still working, time is still on a leash and not all of us live in the same town anymore. I remember Enayet and I had planned to meet for a big chat fest a few months back but despite efforts we couldn't make it. Sadi was in Dhaka for his daughter's wedding reception but we met briefly at the event -he more a bride's dad than an old friend naturally- and of course he soon left afterwards.

The only two old friends I am in regular contact with are Wasi and Rizvi, both in Dhaka and working. And though I am with Dhaka Courier, Enayet and I rarely get to meet as he lives in both Dhaka and Singapore. Others are there but we are not really in contact as so people drift apart and we that a part of ourselves disappears too.

Before we fully disappear I hope we can have one last round and with Enayet at least discuss the dreams that drove us into the arms of Dhaka Courier with Sadi and Manju too. See you all at least one last time.