Portrait
The genius of Abdul Karim
His name was Abdul Karim but he had a very interesting nickname, 'Bhatka'. I was told to address him as 'Bhatka Dadu'. The very first thing I remember was his friendship with my grandmother Begum Abbasuddin. He worked just within walking distance from our house in Purana Paltan, Dhaka. He would arrive at our house around 11 am and I would hear him calling my grandmother, "Bhabi, Bhabi!". From her bedroom upstairs, Dadu would rush downstairs and would respond to him, "Ke Bhatka?"
This gentleman was my grandfather Abbasuddin Ahmed's younger brother. He was about the same age as my Dadi. It was very interesting to see them together. He was full of laughter, jokes and leg-pulling at other people's expense. His first job was to sit in a comfortable position and then send the domestic staff to get some betel leaf (paan). Then he would look at me and say, "Bhabi, wonder why this London grandchild of yours has a dark complexion? Wonder why the hole of her nose is like a hilsa fish sliced in half?" They would both roll in laughter and I had no idea whether this was good or bad and why they were laughing.
He used the colloquial language of Cooch Bihar. My nightmare became more prominent when my younger sister Naeela was born. I was very anxious to babysit her and carried her in my arms with great enthusiasm. Bhatka Dada quipped, "Okay, now Naeela's complexion is really glittering, it is in sharp contrast with Nashid's." I was more tan compared to my sister. Glad I didn't understand his joke or his sarcasm, otherwise I would not have liked him. I loved him intensely, mainly because I found my Dadi, Chacha and aunt Ferdousi were very close to him. They loved him dearly. He was their father-figure in the absence of their beloved father Abbasuddin Ahmed whom they had lost recently (1959).
Before partition, Abbasuddin Ahmed lived in India. His family lived in Cooch Bihar under the guardianship of his younger brother Abdul Karim, while Abbasuddin Ahmed lived alone in Calcutta, pursuing his musical career which was full of thorns and hardly a bed of roses.
On the one hand, poet Abdul Karim was a multifaceted genius; on the other, he was also their guardian. Abbasuddin Ahmed's father ostracized him for becoming a singer, pushing Abbasuddin into a struggling life. He, however, sent some money for his grandchildren. Abdul Karim kept the hazy accounts, and was sometimes caught eating out in restaurants. However, his love for his niece and nephews knew no bounds. Every year he wrote children's plays which were enacted by Mustafa Kamal, Mustafa Zaman and Ferdausi Begum along with a host of other cousins who lived nearby.
Many years later I found the entire manuscript of one such children's drama, titled 'Eider Dine', in one of the drawers maintained by my father. Abdul Karim's handwriting was just like pearls. He coached his wards on how to pronounce words, dialogues, acting, singing and also aided them in building the stage inside the Cooch Bihar house.
No wonder all my other uncles and aunts (cousins of my father) were all so versatile singers, mimickers, drama artists, recitors ,singers even though they are not so by profession.
Abdul Karim's main legacy, however, is his unique and unparalleled bhawaiya songs. Once the packet of betel leaves arrived, he would lift his legs up on the sofa, munch his paan and his pen would start shooting out magic words. He wrote the songs made famous by my aunt Ferdausi Rahman, 'Aji bahahal koriya' and those like 'Nimer dotara tui more'. When Ferdausi was home, she too would join the session. She would share her ideas on what kind of song she wanted, or a change in tune, and Abdul Karim would write accordingly. He was almost instantaneous, like pressing the button for coffee in a vending machine. I found them laughing, joking, imitating village sounds. Little did I know that those sounds would stay with me for the rest of my life.
Every holiday I would coax my grandmother to take me to visit Bhatka Dadu. It was quite a journey from Purana Paltan to Patla Khan Lane near old Dhaka (Bahadur Shah Park). I felt greatly attached to this house, because I heard that my grandfather also lived there earlier (along with his children). By this time Abdul Karim was chronically ill. He would sent us messages of being critical and we would rush to visit him. There he sat in the bedroom upstairs, riddled with illness, yet so vivacious and full of life. I would not want to return home. I sat glued to him as he would ask his wife to make pulao for me which I loved. When evening came, along with his four daughters, we sat in the balcony outside his bedroom. In the slight glow of the receding sun, he would ask each of us to sing a song. Noting my interest in music, he spoke to my mom, who was a strict disciplinarian, and requested her to employ a musical guru. Everyone thought that I stayed back to enjoy the round balls of tamarind and sugar which he kept under his pillow (for me). Actually, it was his colourful personality, the mimicking, acting, story-telling, song writing that had me spellbound.
He spoke a lot about my grandfather Abbasuddin Ahmed and the time when he lived in Calcutta. My grandmother missed her husband and used to cry her heart out to her brother-in-law. Some of that longing, pining, had been captured by the bhawaiya songs written by Abdul Karim. One of the most famous ones is 'O more kala re kala', sung by Abbasuddin Ahmed. Many years later, in 1999, I was able to visit the abode of my grandfather in Cooch Bihar. I was accompanying my father who showed me the wide expanse of land that extended from their house and ended in infinity. The portion was called 'Shadhur Dola'. My grandmother sat there yearning for her husband and during the monsoon season, the tears she shed and those that filled up the 'Shadhur Dola', became one of the passionate songs that bore witness to his creativity.
On 13 March 1971, we received a call from his neighbour that Bhatka Dadu alias Abdul Karim was critically ill. He was an asthma patient and my father rushed to look for an oxygen cylinder. During those dark nights of curfew and crackdown, nothing was available. He said goodbye to this world. We children did not have a last glimpse of this delightful soul, who not only brought so much joy to me, but had an immense ability to connect. I think he knew who I was in a way that no one else will know.
(www.clickittefaq)
Dr. Nashid Kamal is an academic, poet and reputed Nazrul exponent.
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