Reminiscences
Gora Bhai
Gora,ahis nickname suggested, was as fair complexioned as a Bangladeshi male could be. His full name was Shaikh Iftekhar Hossain. Hereceived his Master's degree in conomics from Dhaka University, in which he was placed in the First Class after which he went on to obtain his PhD in Economics from the University of Pennsylvania.He was an Economist at the World Bank in Washington D.C. and published academic articles in top journals, including Economic Development and Cultural Change, published by the University of Chicago. Gora died in 1997, prematurely at a very young age of 44 years.
I met Gora in 1969 when we both were students at Chittagong Government College. We both were in the same section and became friends in no time where we visited each other's home. His father, Shaikh Lokman Hossain, an officer of Pakistan Police Service, had his residence at Sarson Road in Chittagong. The most important aspect of Gora's character was his simplicity. Once we were having lunch in his house on a holiday. Among the dishes, there were shrimps. Gora suddenly asked his father why instead of shrimps they didn't have big lobsters like they had in Khulna. His father jokingly asked him, when was the last time you had it? Gora said, about four or five years ago. His father replied, you need to have a gap of ten years to have lobsters like that again!
Gora used to enjoy good food (however, he was not a big eater), but perhaps he enjoyed sharing good food with his friends even more. That's why even after we moved to Dhaka University, for our mid-morning snacks Syed Nizamuddin (late), Jamil Osman, Zahid Hossain, Abdullah Shibli, me and a few others would search for Gora Bhai to treat us with Shingara or Dalpuri at Sharif Mia's or the nearby Fine Arts College Canteen. Although he was of the same age, and even slightly younger than some of us, we used to call him Gora Bhai. Because of Gora, the generosity of his parents and his welcoming sisters Dora Apa and Rita, his family's government accommodation “Nasheman†at Paribagh became our favorite escapade from the dull food of Mohsin or Surja Sen Hall dining rooms.
In 1984, I went to Boston for higher studies with my wife and two children. Before I could inform Gora about our arrival, he collected my telephone number from our common friend Abdullah Shibli and called me. After enquiring how we were settling down, he gave me some tips about living in Boston. He also lived in the same area while pursuing his postgraduate course-work at Boston University. Before hanging up, he reminded me that my scholarship may not be enough for a family of four. In case I needed money, I should call him without hesitation. Adding further that whenever I would call him, I should call collect (meaning the receiver pays for the call). In the early eighties, even calling within the US was not cheap. Such reassurances are much needed (whether you avail of them or not) when you are in a distant land, separated from your parents and close relatives.
We met again in 1989, at our commencement in Boston: when my wife Dilruba and I received our Ed.M (Masters in Education) and Ph.D degrees, respectively. Gora said, “We all are coming for your commencement†Munni Bhabi and their son Nasif. In our small University housing, I heard my 8 year old daughter Rikhi arguing with Gora, “No, you are not my uncle.†I know all my unclesmeaning my brothers and cousins. Gora explained to her that all of her father's close friends are her uncles. Later that afternoon, my daughter asked me,“Is Gora uncle your best friend?†I gave her an evasive reply- because the concept of best friend was alien to me at that time. The next day, we went to visit Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). Soon we found that our daughter Rikhi, son Fahmid and their son Nasif were taking turns to riding on Gora's back on the green in front of one of the MIT buildings. While we were having dinner, my daughter Rikhi gave us the reply to her own question that I evaded earlier: Daddy, I found out that Gora uncle is your best friend. Now I realize that it is, indeed, hard to impress an eight year old child!
A few years later, I met Gora at the World Bank in Washington D.C. where he used to work and I used to go for Credit negotiations on behalf of the Government of Bangladesh. His instructions were very clear- carry on with your meetings but your lunch and weekends are with me. Together, we used to visit all the World Bank and IMF cafeterias in turn. He used to know exactly on which days which cafeteria would be serving Spanish, Japanese, or even Hungarian special cuisine. We would spend weekends together at his Reston, Virginia house. Now it was his Architect wife, Munni Bhabi, who was more than welcoming.
Our final meeting as living beings was in 1992, when he visited us at our government accommodation in the National Parliament complex. He was returning from a World Bank Mission in Cairo and brought us a copper plated Nefertiti and a painting on Papyrus that still adorn our living room, constantly reminding us of his absence.
On May 3rd, 1997, Khalamma (Gora's mother)called to inform me that “Baba, amar Gora ar nai.†His sister Rita told me that Gora had suffered a stroke while moving his residence from Reston to Herndon He was trying to lift a flower vase or something and collapsed. An ambulance was called, but he'd passed over the course of the ride and the doctors at Reston Hospital pronounced him dead. I called Munni Bhabi at Gora's new residence feeling numb myself. I still tried to console Bhabi, but she was, as expected, un-consolable.
A few days later, his dead body arrived at the Airport. I, along with his sister Rita, other relatives and a few close friends went to the Airport to receive his body. We were waiting in the VIP room at the passenger terminal, the plane arrived and we all rushed towards the plane. Suddenly, a Customs officer accompanying us informed us about the harsh reality that his body would come through the Airfreight, since the coffin carrying our very dear Gora Bhai was now merely cargo! We all left the passenger terminal to receive the body at the cargo unit. Before lowering his body at the Banani graveyard, I had the last glimpse at the mortal remains of Gora Bhai- the cleanest (Gora) of souls that I have ever known.
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