On first impressions, the man that limped into the room, aided by an impressive stick embellished by a carved handle, mirrored the typical deep intellectuals of the 1980s. That was when this scribe, a young corporate executive at the time, first encountered late Kazi Shahid Ahmed.
Attired in immaculately pressed white panjabi and pyjamas, a folded off-white shawl flung over one shoulder, he was soft-spoken but decisive. Sipping on his liquor tea, he extolled his weekly and made the case why product advertisements would reach target audiences. "It’s difficult to say everything these days. But readership is growing, given the quality of our contributors." There was a determined glint in his eyes as he spoke the second sentence.
True to what he said, the writings were courageous. He was reluctant to talk of his army days, views on the present or future, and almost shy to explain the circumstances behind his limp. Perhaps his choice of audiences for such conversations were well filtered.
There was a time when he appeared to be inclining towards active politics. Just as quickly that faded, leaving it to his next generation to foray into that territory.
But that determination saw a phenomenal rise of his weekly, then the daily, and his branching out full-scale into business.
By then, contacts between us were more limited to phone calls, through which the more aggressive side began to ebb through. It was still the days when responsible journalism could prevail and brow beating hadn’t taken on abominable forms. Young journalists drawn to the vocation journeyed through the aura and awe that he inculcated, evidenced by their revelations following his demise.
His stand-out achievement has to have been a new approach and form to journalism that added analysis to reports and thought to editorial content.
Meena Bazar was an attempted fusion between catering to the present-day customer and adding a veneer of culture. The fortunate few would be invited to winter pitha gorges in a Bengali picnic form. The cultural side would inevitably be there in some shape or form.
Negotiating through the differing regimes during which he had to steer his ship must have required deftness and that illusional, but real, "whatever will be, will be" approach. And then of course the innovative move towards organic tea grown in the most unlikely area of the country.
Perhaps his biggest contribution has been the University of Liberal Arts, where he allowed professionals a free hand -- largely due to not expecting any major return on investment. That, too, has grown and created an iconic path for others to emulate.
Meena Bazar has sustained in the face of sharp competition, evolving and innovating. The two publications have shut shop and been replaced by new generation thought in the form of Dhaka Tribune and Bangla Tribune.
The challenge of engaging print readership when online has become prevalent, in times when every word has to be carefully weighed, has been left to his progeny. They must figure out how to keep print journalism relevant, given the demand for instant news versus the story behind the news.
Perhaps that is what inspired him to write books when in his 70s. When the body slows down, thoughts transcend the immediate and give rise to searching within for explanations and self-expression. The "why" isn’t public knowledge, and has been zealously guarded by the few that may have been in the know.
No man is an island and ambitions are personal journeys. Decisions taken are at times of own volition, at times forced and, on others, circumstantial. All three give rise to criticism and acclaim.
How best his legacy will be positioned may well depend on how the institutions created pan out in future.
Mahmudur Rahman is a writer, columnist, broadcaster, and communications specialist.