In his passing, we are all diminished
Where should I begin? Perhaps at the beginning. Shameem was my second cousin, elder son of my father’s cousin sister. My father and his siblings had no sister of their own so my Shakera Fuppi, Shameem’s mother, was looked on as his very own sister and very close to my father and chachas. Shameem and his siblings were like his own children. My father was the family patriarch, not only among his own siblings but all cousins.
Shameem and I grew up in an era when families were extremely closely knit. There was practically no distinction between own siblings and cousins. We were all part of one large extended family, even when living in separate houses in the same city. Frequent families get-togethers over shared meals, sharing each other’s joys and woes , seeking each other’s counsel and comfort were the order of the day, the tradition that knit us so closely together. We shared each other’s joys and sorrows in equal measure.
Shameem was born on 6 August 1946, three years younger than I, five month’s older than my younger brother Tauqir with whom he went to school at Holy Cross before they went to boarding school in Shillong. There Shameem met his childhood sweetheart Joyu who also studied in Shillong. They married at a very young age in 1964.
My earliest memories with him go back to our childhood. I remember the happy time our families would spend together. I remember Shameem and I going out quietly to see a Tarzan movie running at Lion cinema. My Fuppu allowed us to go, not so much because his chhoto mama (my chacha who was about 10 years older than I) was accompanying us as chaperone, but more because he was going with his Tariq bhaiya. My mother consented because I was going with Shameem. My brother Tauqir recollects that he has fond memories of his childhood days with Shameem. They used to play with marbles and wrestle with each other. They use to grapple, kick each other, roll on the ground, soil their clothes, but those were fun days.
After he finished schooling from Shillong, his father wanted him to go to England to study. Shameem did not want to go. I recollect one evening Shakera Fuppi, Fuppa and Shameem came to our house. Immediately the three went to my parent’s room, the door was shut to keep us out. Fuppa and Fuppi requested Abba to reason with Shameem and convince him that he should go to England and finish his studies. But Shameem was steadfastly refusing. Abba listened to Shameem and what he wanted to do. He then told Fuppa and Fuppi not to force him and that he should be allowed to start his own business venture and predicted that he would succeed and shine in life. He could go on and do higher studies later if he wanted. Fuppa reconciled.
If you look at Shameem’s track record after that, he started to grow and diversify the family business. Like me, he was fond of music. He liked listening to samba. My wife Naghma recalls that he was a good dancer. He and Joyu visited us in early 1976 when I was posted in Bonn, Germany. My wife recalls how Joyu urged her and Shameem to dance together to the hustle. My sister remembers him as a very kind, caring, affectionate and loving brother. When she lost her husband in 1996, and her own brothers were all abroad, Shameem came to her side and helped her in sorting out things.
Our early days in Dhaka were happy times. But then I too left to be far away from home and the country, living a nomad’s life in distant lands. But the connection between us and our families never snapped, it just became less frequent. We would reconnect whenever I would be back in the country for short periods.
Shameem lived up to his parents and family’s expectations and much more. He became a leading luminary among entrepreneurs nationally and internationally, showing the way forward for the country with visionary farsightedness. I feel proud of him as a brother.
He had his share of sorrows and tragedies, perhaps more than any mortal deserves. But he never allowed those tragedies to plunge him into despair or to lose heart. His faith in God was unwavering. He had unshakeable belief in the mercy of the Almighty. His faith in the Almighty, his love and devotion to the family, multiplied exponentially.
It was Allah’s will to take him to His bosom in heaven. Actually I as his elder should have gone earlier. I grieve in his passing, but rejoice in the memories of the kind hearted soul tested by God in so many ways and never losing faith in the Divine. We are all created from dust by the Supreme Being and ultimately our mortal bodies must return to that dust. But the soul returns to the Divine Creator, leaving behind on Earth a pious, benevolent and inspiring legacy for those left behind to emulate and follow.
I shall miss my brother. In his passing, we are all diminished. But I shall always celebrate and be thankful for his life. In these times we are all assailed by the wretched pandemic, we are all forced to be so apart. I felt so sad and helpless that I couldn’t be by Joyu and his dear children and grandchildren’s side to comfort them. May Allah (SWT) have mercy on the departed soul. May He be pleased to grant maghfirat and accept his soul for eternal peace in Jannat. May he give his family and all of us he left behind the strength to bear the loss, and courage, fortitude an ultimate utter submission to the Divine Will. Inna lillahi was inna illaihi rajeun.
* Former Ambassador Tariq Karim made this presentation on 14 July 2020 at the virtual memorial for Latifur Rahman organised by Prothom Alo and The Daily Star.