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Reflections, reminiscences and beyond

Syed Badrul Haque is moved by tales of nostalgia and loss
PARTIN nostalgic narrative, partly political diatribe and partly a journal of self-discovery, Tirtha Amar Gram (Holy Is My Village) is an amalgam of poignant, vibrant pieces by Dr. Mizanur Rahman, an expatriate in Canada for over five decades now. It is an impressive example of a new genre, a dovetailing of reminiscent sketches with the prevailing socio-political agenda. He first wrote these pieces for Bangla journals published from Ottawa, New York and New Jersey.
After one has reached a certain age, reflections on yesteryears are more compelling scenes than going up the career ladder. Rahman's thoughts resonate at myriad levels from salad days to manhood and now the sere and yellow stage. The vernacular essays are so lovingly penned that even the reader who has never heard of Hasnabad will recognise the book as a letter from home. The writer draws a memorable picture of his childhood lived in the shadows of his dear and near ones; there is an intensity and innocence in his account of a world he cannot fully understand, but the beauties and dangers of which he is keenly aware of.
Rahman takes a sweeping pejorative look at the prevailing socio-economic scenario of our country. He finds that the high moral and ideological ground on which the Liberation War was fought is now lost in a welter of corruption, greed and erosion of values. He laments that the underprivileged, especially the vast multitude of fanners who were buoyed up with optimism for better days after liberation, are now rudely shocked by what they find. They still continue to be
exploited through the enrichment of townspeople. He considers that, apart from the socio-economic implications, it is hugely callous from a human standpoint.
It beggars belief that the middle class people of our society, who otherwise have had a bright track record in the political arena, have failed to keep the nation on the rails. The author reasons that the subordinated psyche' we inherited from the historic past is mainly to blame for this debacle. It will be quite a while before we can get rid of it, he feels.
His concern for the younger generation is quite palpable. He shudders to think that many of them would trade life even for some bucks. In such a scenario, what kind of future can the country look forward to? He holds our leadership responsible for giving short shift to this much disquieting aspect in the nation's life.
The author's reference to the Kuttis, a Dhakaite community known for its typical sense of humour and repartee that was once an inseparable part of Dhaka culture, is significant. The Kuttis evoke memories of a now lost heritage. They are a vanishing breed, almost forgotten. Theirs is a story of how a minority culture is overwhelmed by a more powerful one. Or should we say it's a cultural compulsion?
Of all the pieces, Bibi touches a reader most for its sheer celebration of humanity par excellence, one that overcomes social barriers, and remains unyielding to the cruel passage of time. In the manner of a seasoned writer, Rahman lights up the long-dusted earthy fairy tale of adolescent love in crisp and telling strokes. Given its thematic dimension, the piece holds the promise of a fullblown literary venture of a classic variety.
The portrayals of male violence and pettiness of village life and the sexually predatory nature of well-off people are quite revealing.
Moving through the labyrinth of old Dhaka, a sad mood descends on the writer when he finds that his once favourite restaurant, Beauty Boarding, is no longer there and the neighbourhood has changed almost beyond recognition since he left these shores decades ago. It
conjoins my memories with those of the writer, the hours that we often used to spend together along with Sadek Khan, columnist; AZM Obaidullah Khan, poet and bureaucrat; Nazrul Islam, ex- foreign secretary and Harunar Rashid, ex-Chief, BSFIC, at a restaurant called Moti Bhai in Luxmibazar which too is now gone. But the changes are obviously the price we pay to suit our ambitions in urban renewal.
If one has to stretch one's mind, the worrying issues the writer raises pointedly define our time. They are no less the spillover of the cultures that intrude into our domain from outside. However much we decry it, we might have to endure this special ugliness of our time in the global village.
The author, in his career shuffle, retired as professor at Carlton University, Canada. He identifies himself as a Bangladeshi-Canadian, finds meaning in his adopted home, though he acknowledges the immense personal toll it exacted on his life. A fractured identity in a global diaspora is a tragedy and the scar born of it hardly goes away, or so he believes. It will rather linger in a time warp enveloping his personal drama. It is at this moment of interaction that the reader vicariously feels the author's own pain, his own role in the saga he weaves as an expatriate. He is in two minds if his children, born and brought up in Canada, will ever identify themselves as unalloyed Canadians. His heroes are they who would never leave their shores to settle elsewhere.
In personal terms, his haul in life is enviable. He rose to international eminence as co-author of the Basic Hyper
Geometric Series published by Cambridge University in the United Kingdom. The Russian translation of the title won him the country's award for the best book on mathematics for the year 1993. After a success spree in his career that now betrays his mental peace, he confronts a kind of hollowness that so easily pales all his life's harvest. He has arrived at a definitive moment of truth: that ultimate success in life is to be measured only in terms of one's contribution to society and not being an achiever only. In the present razzmatazz of life, when consumerism has its irresistible sway, these philosophical reflections ring a call on behalf of society and are deservingly a candidate for a bigger audience.
The book launches out with a rainbow of real life pieces and melodramatic tearjerkers that are essentially a portrayal of life in its varied dimensions. The pieces, seemingly isolated from each other, have a commonality in as much as they form part of a human scenario. A note of pessimism, is, however, quite discernible in many of the pieces.
When a book is so well-endowed with scholastic integrity, one feels, it could afford to brighten its narrative with some informed speculation.
The disarming candour that graces the pieces is indeed the hallmark of Rahman's writing. He luxuriates in details worthy of an artist. His prose is precise and well-crafted. They are a gripping read with a lot of depth and many layers for the reader to peel off. A startlingly good debut.
Syed Badrul Haque, a contributor to the Daily Star, is former PRO to the President of Bangladesh.