Too soon, Saleem Bhai!

None of us saw this coming.

What I know is that I have lost a guardian angel from my life—someone I knew for far too brief a time. I only wish I had met you years before!

It was around mid-2023 that I first received an email from Mr. Saleem Samad expressing his interest in joining our union, Bangladeshi Journalists in International Media-BJIM. I was in the United Kingdom for a few months at the time, attending a Fellowship, so I forwarded his request to the other decision-makers. Until that point, I hadn’t fully grasped the depth of his decorated career. Nearly a year later, he was formally welcomed into the fraternity.

I first met him at a casual BJIM breakfast, remotely hosted by Sami Bhai (Zulkarnain Saer). We laughed, ate, and took plenty of photos with some of the brightest stars of international media based in Dhaka, right beside Dhanmondi Lake. What a character he was! He would lighten up the room by himself alone!

From then on, he would often call me to exchange ideas, thoughts, or simply to invite me for a cup of tea. I later realised he was almost a neighbour; our homes were separated only by the mighty Dhanmondi Road 27.

The retro Sampan Mughal Kabab House by the lakeside - his words - was his “Boithok Khana,” his living room. The busy waiters there usually wouldn’t care if you waited forever.

But when Saleem Bhai walked in, they moved like puppets on strings - serving his table first, adding a “Saleem Samad discount,” and more. For a few weeks, I made an unwritten pact with myself: early morning breakfasts at that restaurant, sitting by the lake, devouring naan with chicken soup.

Avik Bhai, another of my guardian-like elder brother/friend, would sometimes join. We bunked our morning walks, chatted our hearts out, till the golden reflection on the lake water blurred across our faces. Saleem Bhai joined many of those mornings too.

He would usually just take a simple nehari. That’s all. Some days he wouldn’t even eat - he would just sit there, continuously dropping one juicy anecdote after another, rich with history and perspective, while we devoured multiple rotis, bowls of soup, and his wisdom.

I was appointed to a committee by the former interim government - something related to journalists’ accreditation. Due to disagreements, I walked out. While nobody else spoke up publicly in my support, Saleem Bhai did. On the way home, he offered me a lift to Dhanmondi. “Look out for a red car,” he said, as he went to fetch it from the underground parking.

I waited. Government officials were leaving in shiny black state-issued SUVs. Then a sleek red Toyota sedan drove past. I thought - "Well, Saleem Bhai must be quite loaded!" But I was wrong!

Moments later, he appeared in a Tata Nano, roaring like a propeller aircraft. For those unfamiliar, the Nano is a tiny car made by the Indian motor giant Tata.

I hesitated - I’m a 140-kg weighing, six-foot-tall walking concrete wall. Would I even fit? Surprisingly, I did. On the ride back, he kept telling me how much he loved the car because it was a gift from Mrs. Saleem Samad - Jasmine Bhabi. He went on and on about how much he loved his wife, how many adventures they embarked on together, etc. That was him.

We reached home and, of course, ended up at BBQ Tonight—another hugely popular kebab joint in Dhaka. To my amazement, they, too, had a “Saleem Samad discount”!

After a trip to Nepal, he brought me a Dhaka Topi - the classic Nepali men’s hat. I was deeply humbled. This 74-year-old veteran reminded me of my father, whom I lost in 2022, and whom I miss every single day. I started calling him Dadabhai, Nana, Boro Chacha - sometimes even Sir. He never minded.

One rainy evening, I invited him to my favourite kebab place in Dhanmondi 6 - a small Bihari joint called Kabab Village. He loved the food. I felt oddly proud, as if I had introduced him to something special.

Mr. Samad was never late. Ever. In our brief acquaintance, he always outclocked me—and I am usually never late myself, thanks to my years in Britain. When Rozina Apa came from the United States for a brief visit, and only a handful could gather for an impromptu lunch, he came, despite not feeling well. He never missed people.

At one point, he was invited to become Editor-in-Chief of an English daily. He sincerely asked for my guidance. I was humbled - ready to help in any way I could. I felt honoured that he respected my vision and leadership. At times, I wasn’t even sure of myself - whether I was an Alpha or not. He gave me that boost: “If anyone can do it, it is you.”

Sadly, the paper’s dirty internal politics pushed him out within weeks. He didn’t mind. We all knew - it was their loss.

In recent months, I withdrew into a phase of self-improvement and mental recalibration - for personal reasons. I limited activities outside the office and family. I was abroad for a few weeks, too, which further disconnected me from Saleem Bhai.

Later, I noticed he had sent me a final message - asking whether the union could help raise some funds for his sciatica treatment abroad. Unfortunately, we couldn’t. Our union does not raise money that way, nor do we extort in the name of sponsorship. Still, behind our principles, perhaps we failed him. Maybe. It is an odd feeling of guilt I cannot express enough!

After a long pause, just days ago, while discussing our union Iftar party this year, I realized it had been months since I last spoke to him. Two days later, today, I learned Saleem bhai was gone. Cancer had already taken over his body. I was at his Namaz-e-Janaza at the Press Club, but I didn't want to take a final glance. I will remember you as I saw you last time - ever-smiling, cracking jokes, and lighting up the mood.

I don’t want to dissect his career, debates, or professional legacy. To me, he was a man who chose to leave the comfort of the West - despite having every opportunity to stay - to live among his own people, in a chaotic city of dust and deception. Yet he found love here. And here he will rest -- in the fertile soil of Bengal.

I wonder what will happen to Jasmine… Life will go on, of course. Perhaps she will return to her children abroad. But how does Juliet live without her Romeo?

Until the next episode, Saleem Bhai. Rest in peace, Sir. I am sure good kebabs and good company await! If you see my dad, please say hello. I miss him a lot. I will miss you too, bhai. The stray cat loitering near the Sampan's lakeside table will miss your treats.

Innalillahi wainnailaihe rajiun.

#Eulogy #SaleemSamad