Dr. Fuad Hasan Mallick

There is one funny thing about my first semester that I feel I should mention here. Actually, this incident happened sometime after the final exams of the first semester. A good number of people in BRAC U happen to be related to me, the most prominent of which would be Dr. Ziauddin Ahmed, Professor of Physics. He is my first cousin, believe it or not. By extension, his brother-in-law Dr. Fuad Hasan Mallick is also my relative, and I would always address him as Fuad Bhai back when I was a kid. But then a lot had gone on in our lives, I had not met Fuad Bhai in almost two years, and to be honest I did not really miss him that much either. So when I would run into Johnny Bhai, I would smile and exchange pleasantries. When I met JRC, I would be deferential and greet him as a student should greet the master, especially one of Jamilur Reza Chowdhury’s caliber. But when I ran into Fuad Bhai, I would assume he does not know me and vice versa.

The whole semester went by this way, and I never even paused to consider that maybe my dearest brother’s dear brother-in-law did indeed know me. Then the exams came and went, and it was a time for celebration. On that note, I was attending a dinner at Johnny Bhai’s place when my mom brought forth Fuad Bhai. Apparently he wanted to see me, thus making me even more sure he does not know me by face. But then, he came up and took me in his arms, jokingly remarking “ ei chele mone kore ami oke chini na!” I was taken aback! Not only did he know me, he knew why I never spoke to him! Maybe that was the day I became an ardent fan of Fuad Bhai, realizing what a loving brother lies behind that exterior that pretends to not even notice what’s going on in the whole wide world around him. It was a great feeling, knowing that even when a man is just passing you by not talking to you, he actually loves you just as much as those who stop by and say a few words.

First Day

As the VC stood up there, addressing the students and reminding of them when they had first joined BRAC University, I was taken back to that very first day. It was a Sunday, the 15th of September, 2002. Of course, going to university was a big and novel experience for all of us, and it should perhaps be attributed to my thick brain that it never occured to me as being a major turning point in my small life.

What I do remember of the day is an odd sense of disorientation as I walked up to the 2nd floor of the University Building, where the Information Desk used to be back then. In laer years, the building would become UB to us, and we would forever refer to that particular floor as “UB Information Desk”, even when the desk was shifted and the much more prominent ECE lab set up in that same floor.

As I walked in, I was rather taken aback at the sight of some fifty students pushing and elbowing their way to the wall in the far corner, where the coveted class routine hung, waiting for people to come up to it and get their class schedule down pat. Now that I look back with the benefit of hindsight, I am guessing there must have been at least one other routine somewhere and we all did not need to fight over this one like it was The Lost Ark. Ah well, at least I will know better the next time, if there is one.

It took me almost two hours, and a whole lot of pushing and shoving, to get my routine. But it was still not time to rest, for one look at it told me that I have a class in less than half an hour. So we rushed for the class. At this point, Ishtiyaq and Saikat were probably the only people I knew well enough to talk casually with, and naturally we spent most of our time together. I gradually made more friends, of course, but more on that later.

The day sort of went by running from one class to another, not so much tired as oiverwhelmed. To make things even better (or worse), my newly acquired cellphone decided to die on me. Sometime around the afternoon, I was done with classes, terribly tired and horribly sweaty. I am sure I must have fallen asleep on my way back home, but I cannot be sure. All of the rest of the day is rather hazy. Sad but true, some four years later I cannot even recall whether my first day at BRAC U ended on a happy or sad note…

dinguli mor…

Last Thursday, 8th February, was my convocation. It was also the day when I realized that I am hopelessly in love with BRAC University, despite all arguments I might try and present to the contrary. Sure, there were times when I regretted being a part of BRAC U, but hey, there have also been times I have regretted being born, so I guess that is OK. Anyway, that realization, albeit late, triggered a desire to write about my time in BRAC, all the little moments that flashed through my mind as I stood there, waiting for the President to formally confer the degree upon us. I do not plan on writing an autobiography. Far from it, really. What I want to do is recall some of those small moments that may mean nothing to the rest of the world, but to me are the greatest moments of my University life. I am guessing none of the incidents I mention here can be deemed historically important, but they are a definitive part of me. They capture the essence of my stay at BRAC U, the good, the bad and the downright crazy. None of the matter here will ever make it to a big national daily, but all I want is for them to make way into the hearts of my friends who will read this.

He died on the cross for us

The other day, I was reading a book – The Zahir by Paulo Coelho. I had never even heard of the man last year, and by the end of 2006 I have read just one of his books – The Alchemist, a copy of which was gifted to me by Naira Khan. I am also just about to finish The Zahir, maybe within the next few days. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that Paulo Coelho is a great writer, or even one of my favorites. But he does have a very smooth, uplifting style and the ability to incorporate a lot of religious icons and stories into his works, which render them with an almost scripture-like quality. Anyway, I do not really want to dissect his writing style – at least not at this very moment.

 

While reading The Zahir, I came across a very interesting fact. Let me put it here in about the same way the author did in his book. How many of you see the human race, or let’s just say civilized human society, worshipping a guillotine, an electric chair or the gallows – in about two thousand years? How many of you think it would become very common to wear miniature guillotine blades around one’s neck, or to hold on to them when trying to place emphasis on one’s honesty and integrity? Not many, I hope. Why not? Because these items are not the kind of things one would worship. These items do not symbolize hope, love and the promise of salvation. On the contrary, they stand for all things running counter to those mentioned above. They signify punishment, torture, death, maybe even cruelty and injustice to some extent. Why should we worship them or carry smaller versions of them with us at all times?

 

Right. Point taken. So what does a cross signify? You know, the kind on the tops of churches, or the smaller ones people have hanging from a string around their necks? To most people around the world, even those that do not adhere to Christianity, it symbolizes love, sacrifice and absolute faith in one’s creator. It stands for how much one man had to go through because he wanted salvation for all the others he cared for. It stands for a man who had such strong beliefs in his God that he silently put up with torture and humiliation, for his God had promised him forgiveness for all his brothers in return for this pain. It stands for the suffering of Jesus Christ, and the salvation thus brought on to all those who have faith in him.

 

But that is today. What did the cross mean two thousand years ago? What did it mean to the Romans who made a battered, bruised Jesus carry it on his back on the way to his own death? To them, the cross meant fear, and pain, and above all else, punishment. The cross was reserved for the worst offenders in the court of The Roman Emperor. When the Emperor’s men wanted to make an example out of someone, to humiliate them and make everyone watch and learn the outcome of trying to rebel against The Empire, they made the victim carry a cross. Carry it where? To his own death, to the place where he would be nailed to the cross and left to die, wounded and bleeding. This is what was done to Jesus and to the two others with him. Of course, not all those who received such punishment had their faith in God and nor did they brave the situation like Jesus did. For most of them, this was the worst way to die, nailed to a cross and waiting, almost hoping, for the moment when one’s life-force would finally drain out, delivering them from the pain. They would probably gladly welcome the alternative of being hanged by the neck – what we deem one of the cruelest acts of punishment in today’s world.

 

Yet today, the cross is the exact opposite of all things to do with pain, death and brutality. To those who really understand the teachings of The Savior, it reminds them of the need for forgiveness, compassion and sacrifice. Such is the power of the one incident that happened some two thousand years ago – the crucifixion of The Christ. Not even the Romans could have foreseen how what they thought of as their victory would in fact turn out to be there greatest defeat ever. How their instrument of torture would be forever attached to the man they were torturing, and begin to provide his followers all around the world with the hope that God will rescue them yet.

 

How did this drastic change happen? Was it all the act of God? Or was it years on teaching and training people to think in a new way? I would say it is the latter. Organized religion has the power to transform so many things about a man’s life and the way he thinks, and this is just one meager example. This topic has always fascinated me, even when it comes to different aspects of my own religion, about which I plan on writing sometime in the near future. What it all boils down to in the end is the fact that regardless of how things were centuries ago, we have a very different way of looking at them now. By extrapolation, this also means that regardless of how we look at things today, there can always be incidents that change our world view, slowly but surely. Today, we look at the cross with reverence. Centuries later, our descendants may once again think of the cross as an abomination, and think of the gallows as the sign of laying down one’s life for what one believes in. We never really know where history will take us next.

Do I?

Do I really love you?

Or is it but a moment’s whim?

Will I always miss you?

Or will this someday seem like a dream?

I do not know what I truly feel,

I cannot find what to say.

All I know is that without you

Each second feels like a day.

And yet I would wait patiently,

I would wait eons, dear;

But you will never know that one awaits

That, love, is my greatest fear.

Ramblings of a confused mind

my first ever attempt at poetry

Walking down the busy streets,

I suddenly come to a stop.

What’s that running down my cheek?

Tears? Or a raindrop?

 

Living somebody else’s life

In somebody else’s sleep;

And yet this pain seems to kill me,

These wounds cut so deep.

 

What is real?

What matters most?

Searching for answers,

I roam; like a ghost.

 

Maybe someday the pain will die

And life will finally be all smiles.

Till that day I can just wonder,

Just how many, how many more miles?

At crossroads

The other day I was reading an article on how one could spur one’s own confidence level when approaching a novel situation. At one point, the author quotes Albert Einstein’s famous line “imagination is more important than knowledge”, and interprets it in a rather unique way. He says that by imagining that one is well-prepared and ready to face a challenging situation, one might be able to pre-empt any knowledge to the contrary. He even goes on to say that often, he himself would just convince himself of his abilities, and then find that it actually raised his level of performance.

How accurate the author is in his demands, or how authentic his experiences might be, is a matter of debate. I would say that the author may well have something of considerable importance. Nevertheless, that is not what is on my mind right now.

My primary concern is how beautifully the author provides a novel interpretation of an age-old adage. The concept of multiple possible interpretations, each making perfect sense, has always intrigued me. I am very spiritual, if not religious in the usual sense. In my faith, Islam, we believe the Al-Quran to be Divine Revelations. It is often re-iterated that the verses in this book often leave room for more than one interpretation. As a teenager, I would frown upon this and wonder – why would God’s word be so fuzzy? Isn’t an omnipotent being perfectly capable of delivering his message unambiguously?

Then as I grew up, read more and spoke to more people about these issues, I learnt something very integral about faith and the need for this vagueness in words of The Holy Book. I realized that just as an all-powerful God could eliminate all ambiguities, he could just as well eliminate all doubts from the hearts of men. Then, everybody would become an ardent believer, complete with all the traits and beliefs that God desires in one of His creations. But God does not want that. He wants everyone to immerse themselves in the things He has provided us with, the words that He has sent to us. That’s right; Almighty God doesn’t want us to accept his say-so. He wants us to convince ourselves of all the gifts we have been vested with and then arrive at a decision about how to use them best.

Here we arrive at the need for fuzzy borders. If the words are clear-cut and allow only one rigid interpretation, then no one can make a mistake in following the directions they give. Then, as one of my teachers once said, there would be no test. Everyone would understand exactly what to do, and try to actually do those things.

But God doesn’t want that either. He wants people to reach a state of spiritual perfection, not a state of being mindless automatons. God wants people to constantly face the choice between right and wrong, to constantly end at crossroads. Once they are there, God wants people to stay focused, recall God’s mercy and The Prophet’s message, and then decide which path to take, keeping these things in perspective. Because eventually, while multiple interpretations are possible, if one remembers that God is always judicious and His Prophet always righteous, one realizes that very few of the interpretations are consistent with this knowledge. That is the stage where man realizes which interpretation to truly embrace. That is the stage God wants all of us to arrive at, through a great degree of pain and torment. The stage where we surrender to God, do it peacefully and sincerely, and make sure that surrender to Divinity doesn’t result in being detached from the rest of humanity.

Hello world!

Hello world! As a computer science major, these two words are probably more common to me than any other two-word sentence. It is the one string that we are taught to print out in the first lab for any programming language course – ranging from C to Assembly Language. In the process, we are supposed to learn at least one basic thing about the language – how easy (or otherwise) it is to output something in this language. Whereas in C it is a no-brainer, in Assembly the same program will make you want to kill yourself – after you have killed all the class geeks who know how to get it done, from their ‘experiments’ with computers. Anyway, this is the first post and I don’t want anyone to find out already what a homicidal maniac they have let into their circles, so let’s not talk about that anymore.

I have had blogs in the past. Even at the moment, I am more or less regular with my MSN Space, http://www.lexcorphq.spaces.msn.com. I usually use my blogs to jot down random thoughts, with the hope that someone will read it and leave a comment, and then I may be able to find someone with whom I can shoot the breeze about a whole bunch of random nonsense that is always on my mind.  I used to a big superhero fan, and even as an adult one thing about those comic books and their plots still make me ponder – what are we here for? Are all of us, in one way or another, the orphan son of some powerful father who sent us here to save our lives? Does it mean that we in turn must serve this planet, the one that was chosen to save our lives? Similarly, aren’t all of us, at some level, lonely people with an identity crisis? How would each of us react to suddenly being gifted superpowers? How would we deal with it? Would we be responsible about it, know exactly what is to be done? Or would we go astray and start using these powers for our own end, only to be woken up mercilessly by the death of a loved one? Would we then be forever haunted by the knowledge that had we been a little more careful, maybe our dearest one would still be alive and be able to see us put ourselves and our skills to better use? Not many of us can fly or climb walls or stop a running train, but I believe these are questions we can all relate to. I will be looking forward to some comments.If you took the time to read this, thank you. Please let me know your thoughts about the matter. Trust me, you will be making quite a difference.