My friend Emran, as I knew him

Then he called an Additional Secretary to inform him over the phone that the minister's meeting with the Japanese delegation next morning was cancelled and he can plan to do something else. Five minutes later a peon appeared with a memo from the officer concerned that would confirm in writing what the Secretary had just told him over the phone. This is exactly what Emran was complaining about minutes ago. Secretary Ejazul Huq blew his top. He dialed his deputy's phone number and gave him hell for not trusting the word of his boss and wasting time unnecessarily in memo writing. "If you do not trust my word then I cannot trust your work" I remember him shouting. After that, he looked at me and said "Budhai, Aktoo Baishi Huay Gailo. Ki Bolish? I said "yes" and advised him to calm down and be more patient as things had changed since he was here last he said that he will keep that in mind. That was Emran. Realising his mistake as soon as he made one and willing to learn from that and make the necessary amendment.

Emran was very neat and meticulous in whatever he did, almost a perfectionist. What a pain! Before setting up the table for Bridge, he would iron the table cloth and use a ruler to draw straight lines for making columns for the score sheet. While serving tea with snacks, he once warned me in America to be careful and not drop anything on the furniture. I reminded him that they were rentals and asked him "Why are you so worried about Bharar Furniture" he said he might buy and take them home. Which he did. Emran and I loved to poke at each other. Which sometimes would come close to erupting into a fight. But one of us would always back out and thus we retained our friendship. Life-long friendship.

In 1998, I was posted in Bangladesh with a mission to prepare and present a proposal to USAID on behalf of a Washington based Development Organisation for receiving and selling US agricultural product and monetizing that fund to develop Independent Agricultural Cooperatives in Bangladesh. Those two years that I spent in Dhaka enriched my life in another way. It brought me and Emran even closer. I rented a place close to his house, which was always open to me. I had an open invitation to have meals with him and his family whenever I was free or felt like it. Very often, after his wife Nusrat left for work to teach at the Sunbeams School, after my morning walk, I would go over and have breakfast with him. That would be a time, when we would have a heart to heart talk and plan our lives after the retirements. By now, he had become the Secretary of Industry but we never discussed any officer or industrial projects. Except on one occasion when a minister got jealous about his driving a posh car that belonged to KAFCO that he was using as its Chairman.

Emran would also get mad with the constant strikes and hartals that was then being called by the Awami League leaders and implemented by their workers. He would have to go to work by rickshaw and some times made to get off half way and take another rickshaw down the road. I particularly remember how upset he was one morning, when he read in the newspaper that some students had taken off the pants of a government officer for going to work during a hartal. He looked nervous.

I can never forget the day, when I first learnt that Emran was sick and he was going to USA for treatment! I was still living in Dhaka but had gone on a short visit to Calcutta. I returned on a Friday, so we could play bridge on Saturday. I called Basheer and found out that we were meeting at Emran's place that week. He told me to come over to his place first and then we could go to Emran's together. When I reached Indira Road, Anwar was already there. We started off and then they stopped at a fruit shop. "Let us take some fruits for Emran" Basheer said. After we picked up some grapes and apples and oranges, each one of us started insisting on paying for it. The argument was put to rest by an agreement that all three of us will split the cost. When we reached Emran's, he was still ironing the table cloth. We left the fruits on the dinning table. He came out and asked who brought the fruits? I told him that "all three of us paid for it." With his typical wry smile, he said "THO DHEIR AIYE OBASTA? TEEN JOAN MILAY PHOL KINTE LAGAY" (This is your financial condition that the three of you have to pool the money to buy fruits.

We all laughed and sat down for the game. Suddenly, Emran started coughing and it reminded me of my mother's coughing, when she was suspected for TB. I asked Emran if he had seen a doctor and what did he say? That is when he first told me that he had a problem with his lungs and was advised by his doctor to go to USA for check up and possible surgery as the treatment. I was shocked and could not concentrate on the game.

"When are you going to America?" I asked. "Next week To Boston, where my sister lives. Meenu has already made appointments for me with the doctors for check up at the Boston General Hospital". He informed me. I lived in Vienna, Virginia, just outside of Washington DC which is about 400 miles south and nearly 8 hours drive from where he was planning to stay. I told him that I was returning to USA in a couple of weeks and will contact him as soon as I arrive there. That was our last session of Bridge together.

I came back to USA on March 3, 2000 and called Emran at his sister's place in Newton, MA. He said that the initial medical examination had confirmed that indeed his left lung had a cancerous growth and it has to be removed by surgery. But before that the size of that had to be shrunk and reduced to the size of a table tennis ball from that of a tennis ball. After that Emran also wrote down and circulated a memo to his friends and relatives basically to keep us informed about his health status. The situation was not good but we all had faith in the miracle of modern medical science and it was very reassuring to know that the doctors at the MGH, were the best in the country. I asked Emran, if I should come over but at the same time hesitated for fear of going and imposing on the family that was under so much of stress. Emran told me to go and take him to New York for a day or two. I agreed and we planned to see a play in Broadway. I called back to confirm the date that I would be picking him up. That is when his wife Nusrat advised him to stay put in Boston in case the doctors needed him for anything. She also apprised me of the situation. I postponed the trip. Then Emran called and gave me the date of the operation. May 23 or 24, I think.

Other friends like Kamal and Siddique went to Boston with their wives to see Emran and Nusrat. Samad told me that he met Emran in Boston around that time when he called on prime minister Sheikh Hasina, when she was visiting the University town. She was very sorry to see him so sick. I decided to wait and go a day before the surgery so I could be with his wife and sister, at the waiting room, while the doctors worked on him at the operation table. Emran liked the idea and said it would be nice for Nusrat to have me by her side while he lied unconscious at the operation threate.

I was there before Emran arrived with his wife, sister and brother-in-law Gulap. Who I met for the first time. Emran looked terrible with his hair gone due to radiation. Though I was preparing for it, the shock was too much for me. Even his smiling face did not bring a smile in my face. He was jovial and very soon jerked me out of my state of shock. I was ready to trade jokes with him that we usually did. Then the nurse took him to get ready for the operation. After a few minutes, Emran came back with a long gown, smiling sheepishly. "I told him that he looked like one of those old Anglo-Indian ladies that we used to come across in Ripon Street, when we were growing up in Calcutta. Emran joined us in the laughter and told us the Joke about how, after the making of the film Fire, on lesbians, Mira Nair was approached by the gay and senior citizen groups to make film on them. According to the joke, Miss Nair simply gave them the titles and told them to go make their own films 'Back-Fire' for the gays and 'Cease-Fire' for the senior citizens. Though she considered making 'Miss-Fire' about normal man and woman relationship. That was Emran! Full of life, minutes before he was going in there to confront with death.

The operation started at 7am and it was expected to last between 6 and 8 hours. We settled down at the waiting room with eyes on the papers and magazines there but our minds at the Operation Theatre. Nusrat started reading a small book of prayers that I had given her in Dhaka before she boarded the plane for America. After an hour, I decided to go and check out from my hotel which would charge me another $ 215 after 12, noon my way back, I ate and brought some breakfast for the three of them. Their children, Raihan and Ashna were still in Dhaka. Around noon time, the doctor came out to inform that the operation was proceeding well but it will take another 3 hours. That did not stop Nusrat from crying. She was worrying consistently and did not even touch the Egg Mc Muffin that I had picked up from the McDonald's in the morning. Gulab suggested that we go to the cafeteria and have some lunch. We forced Nusrat to eat something. At 4pm the doctor came out and announced that the operation was over and it was successful. All of us breathed a sigh of relief. We went out to call friends and relatives in Dhaka and other cities of USA, who were waiting to hear about the outcome. Emran was moved to Post Operation cabin at 5pm. The family went in. I chose to stay out. But after a few minutes, Nusrat came out and told me that he was looking for me. I went in and held his hand. He smiled and put up a thumbs up sign. After a few minutes, I told him that I was going back to Washington. He expressed in sign language that after a week, I should come back with a pack of cards and we shall play Rummy. Which we often did in Dhaka while waiting for our Bridge partners. I promised that I will do that. A promise that could not be fulfilled.

Because of the radiation and as a result of medications, his immune system went haywire. He could not resist the onslaught of a pneumonia attack and went on a coma on the 3rd day after the operation. He was put in a respirator and laid in that state for 14 days. I was calling every other day but did not have the heart to see my strong and active friend in that state of helplessness. On June 7th, 2000 drove my wife to New York, which is half way to Boston. She was visiting a friend. On June 16th someone from Boston called our home and left a message that Emran had passed away. Instead of telling me, one of our daughter's gave that news to my wife in New York just as we were leaving that city. She knew how close I was to Emran and how upset I would be to get that news. She did not want me to drive 200 miles in that state of mind. My wife too decided to keep that news from me until I reached Washington. They made a big mistake and I still feel bad about it. If I knew in New York that Emran was dead, I would at least go and attend his namaz-e-janaza and offer my condolences to his family. The body was flown to Dhaka and the funeral took place in Banani. What a sad trip it must have been for Nusrat and the children, who had come from Dhaka after the doctors had given up hopes. It was very gracious of Nusrat to forgive me for not attending the funeral. She praised Shabbir for all the help and assistance he provided towards arranging Emran's last flight back home. Dhaka is my home too and I keep going back there. But without Emran, it is not the same. It will never be.

Sultan Reza is Country Representative, Agricultural Co-operative Development International (USA)