* * *Thinking back on Anin’s brief but utterly wondrous and unique life, I realise that if ever there was a person who needed to tell his whole life story to explain his present, it was Anin. Born with an extremely rare case of hyperlepidemia, he was, from earliest childhood, restricted from the normal fat-filled diets the rest of us take for granted. He was fully aware of the price of his occasional indulgences -- at weddings or while on holiday -- but in spite of a few instances of recklessness, and his flair for fatalistic philosophy, I don’t for a second believe Anin had a death wish.
Anin’s legacy, I hope, will be one of life, because not even his condition held him back from drinking life to the last dropHe wanted to live -- for his wife Titash and his son Mukto. For his sister, his brother, his nieces, his nephew, and his innumerable cousins and friends, whose lives he lit up every single day. He gave it his all, and fought till the end, but his vital organs just couldn’t take it any longer. On December 29, 2017, his heart finally stopped, ending his pain. But for the rest of us, those of us who grew up with him, knew each other as children, as teens, and finally as adults, the pain has only begun. Maruf Muqtadir, known as Anin to his family -- husband, father, software engineer, photographer, traveller, fish and reptile connoisseur, nature lover, patriot, activist -- gone forever at age 36.
* * *Anin’s legacy, I hope, will be one of life, because not even his condition held him back from drinking life to the last drop. He travelled as much as he could, became a photographer of considerable skill, and made friends in every corner of the country. I cannot recall Anin ever complaining about anything -- he took life as it came, and never wanted anyone to feel sorry for him. And because of his warmth towards everyone, and his completely judgment-free attitude, whenever someone wanted to throw a family invite, Anin would always be the one to get the first call. He loved everyone without condition, and was loved in return. I will never see Anin again, and that hurts so much. But I believe the best way to honour his memory is to take whatever cards life has dealt us, and to live fully, without regret. Abak Hussain is Editor, Editorial and Op-Ed, Dhaka Tribune.