Memoir: A Friend Who Became A Mentor and A Family Friend

I cannot exactly remember when our journey of friendship began, or when the bond of mentorship quietly developed between us. Perhaps it happened so naturally that I never noticed the transition. Over time, our friendship grew into something much deeper. Dr Khairul Islam became a family friend—someone who was always beside us in times of crisis, someone we could turn to without hesitation. He was well known for his long and remarkable journey in public health. His professional achievements will undoubtedly be remembered by the development practitioners and the nation. But for me and my family, he was much more than a public health professional. He was a friend, a mentor, a problem-solver, and, at times, almost a member of our family.

The Morning I Heard the News

Just after waking up, I saw the heartbreaking news of his passing in a Facebook post by Hasin Jahan, country director of WaterAid. I could not believe it. I wanted to believe that there had been some mistake. Just to reassure myself, I called Meeru.

She simply said, “Yes, Mej-di, he is no more.”

Those few words left me stunned.

Since then, my mind has been restless, moving through countless memories of our friendship—our conversations, arguments, laughter, advice, and the many moments when he stood beside my family.

Beyond His Profession

Just after the July Uprising, unruly mobs attacked him and questioned the contribution he and his organisation had made to ensuring menstrual hygiene facilities in schools. As a teacher, I know only too well the reality of menstrual hygiene facilities in rural, and even urban, schools and the struggles girls face in accessing them. He deeply regretted not being able to work more strategically and intensively on menstrual hygiene issues in madrassas. We talked about it at length. Our conversations were never confined to public health. We talked about politics, literature, culture, women’s empowerment, and almost every social issue that mattered to us.

After the mob attacks on Chhayanaut and Udichi, he called me one night to ask what was happening in the cultural community in Netrakona. We had a long conversation. He spoke about his contributions to Bishwo Sahitya Kendra, Chhayanaut, and other cultural and social initiatives. His interest in these issues showed that his commitment went far beyond his professional work.

His Unique Sense of Humour

He had a wonderful sense of humour. Once, he called and said, “I’m planning to visit Netrakona during the Eid holidays and have lunch with you all. Please arrange some haor fish for a lavish feast. I later called him to find out when he was actually coming. His response was classic: “I’m not coming to Netrakona just to fill my belly, specially during this gas crisis. The gas bill alone won’t be worth the trip!”

He never came to Netrakona. But he sent a bulk of gifts for my daughter and sisters instead. That was him. He could turn an ordinary conversation into a cherished memory.

The Bossy Mentor

Dr Khairul Islam was a bit bossy. Interestingly, he knew it himself. Once admitted, “Yes, I’m a bit bossy because I have been carrying higher positions in professional life for a long time. He was indeed bossy, but that was also part of his charm. Behind that bossy attitude was a genuinely caring and thoughtful mentor. Whenever I faced a problem, he was there with a solution or, at the very least, a different way of looking at it. Whenever I struggled with issues involving my daughters, he guided me. He cared about our family and genuinely appreciated the bond we shared. He always gave us a special place because of our kinship with Ayesha Khanom. He also respected and recognised my grandmother’s contribution to women’s empowerment.

The Haor Trip That Never Happened

We had planned to go on a haor trip after his retirement. We talked about it and looked forward to spending some carefree time together. But you retired before you could begin your retired life. The haor trip never happened. The lavish lunch never happened either. Perhaps some promises are meant to remain unfinished—not because they were forgotten, but because they become part of the memories we carry forever. You will be remembered by the nation for your remarkable contribution to public health, and your professional journey will continue to inspire many.

But I will remember you in a much more personal way.

I will remember you as a friend.

As a mentor.

As a family friend.

As the slightly bossy man with an extraordinary sense of humour.

As someone who stood beside my family when we needed him most.

We will meet again someday, my dear friend. When we do, we will finally take that haor trip. This time, I will not miss the opportunity to serve you that lavish lunch at my home—in the eternal world.

The writer is a teacher and a social activist