On Shabbir\\\'s first death anniversary

Mehreen emailed me the other day to remind me that it is time to commemorate her father, my dearest "Mamu" Shabbir Ibne Yusuf. The email was a surprise but not because I needed to be reminded about her father's death anniversary, but because a year had elapsed since Shabbir, a dear friend of so many of us, had left us on July 04, 2014.
I first met Shabbir when he was admitted in the Political Science Department of Dhaka University. I was already a final-year student in the department in the late 1960s. I don't really remember the day we met but strangely, after I knew him, I never felt that there was ever a time in my life we did not know each other.
Shabbir was an outstanding hockey player those days. He was the full back of the East Pakistan Hockey Team. He was towering in the field but was so gentle in personal life that in his case, the contrast stood out beautifully - a gentle giant in every conceivable way. Shabbir knew almost everybody in Dhaka's elite society. As a successful businessman, he was the President of the Jute Spinner's Association. One thing that all who knew him expressed in common was that it was almost impossible to greet Shabbir before he would greet you. He was literally a gentleman par excellence.
Shabbir came from one of the most illustrious families of Bangladesh. His father was the well-known politician Yusuf Ali Chowdhury, known better by his nickname Mohon Mian. Shabbir had many brothers. All who know the brothers know that although they would unhesitatingly give Shabbir the crown as the most courteous, all of them would nevertheless be serious contestants if we were indeed giving such a hypothetical crown.
The manners and courtesy is of course the contribution of the family, in particular Mamu's great father, the redoubtable Mohon Mian. Mohon Mian those days used to visit his constituency in Faridpur regularly. Every time he returned to Dhaka, his sons would make sure not to face their father. The reason was whoever of the brothers had the misfortune of facing their father had to go around the city distributing late into the evening the fish and other gift items that Mohon Mian would bring from Faridpur for his political colleagues, many of them in parties opposed to his and that included Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman as well.
Talking on politics with Shabbir was most revealing because of his deep knowledge which was no wonder given his family background. His deep knowledge was also because of his friendship across the political divide. The ease with which he could communicate with both sides of the country's unbelievable political divide only underlined the nature of the man.
Those who knew Shabbir as a friend would know what a precious possession they have lost. Whenever I visited Dhaka (I have been living abroad since 2012) and called Mamu to tell him I am home, he would just say we must get together.
Then I would get a call from him soon afterwards asking me whether it would be possible to have "daal/bhat" with him at his home and for the life of me that was an offer I would never let go. The "dal bhat" was always assortment of the best of Bangladesh cuisine one could imagine. What was more desirable in those dinners were the friends he would bring and the conversation we would have that made it very difficult when the moment came to depart. But then there would be Mamu walking us down to our cars and with his trademark smile and that soft voice telling us all "abar dekha hobay." That was what Shabbir said to me on December 31, 2013 the last occasion we met. We had fixed an appointment to meet at the Dhaka Club. He got caught with his work and was late coming to the Club. As I waited for him, I spent a good amount of time with the artist Quayyum Bhai (artist Quayyum Chowdhury), Zaglul Ahmed Chowdhury (the journalist) and Somu (the son of the poet Sikander Abu Zafar), the last two also Shabbir's year mates in the University and close friends. All of them passed away with Shabbir in 2014. In retrospect, in the last one year I have thought so many times whether there was some sort of divine connection that on that afternoon I would meet four of the finest men by any criterion and all would die within a year!
I will not meet Shabbir ever again in this life. Yet he will live in my memory and his friends as if he has never left us. Shabbir, in life, left a deep impact upon all who treaded his path. In death, he has left them in grief but also prouder to have known him, a gentleman par excellence.

The writer is a former Ambassador.
[email protected]