Dear Mrs Choudhury:
I wish I had written this letter to you while you were still with us, but I take comfort in knowing that you knew very well just what a profound impact you had on my life and how the lessons you taught me as both teacher and principal have stayed with me in the decades since I passed through the hallways of BIT and out into the wider world.
I can offer no greater compliment or attestation of how much you inspired me than in the fact that I went on to study English literature at university and graduate school, and that a love of books has remained the one constant in my life, as I have shifted careers from teacher to lawyer to journalist.
I have taught English, both at the high school and university level, here in Bangladesh as well as in Canada and the US, and I have always started my first class the way you started ours when you taught me (as one of only two students in the class) for O Level English literature almost 40 years ago.
You always said that if you read a book and enjoy it, then you have got out of it 95% of the meaning and value that there is to be had from reading it. All the rest that we do in literature classes and graduate seminars, all the analysis and explication and exposition, all of that accounts for just the remaining 5%.
What struck me about this beautiful formulation was how it revealed the love of literature that lay at the heart of your mission as an English teacher and the humility inherent in understanding that, for all their deep study and critique of books, that teachers and scholars do not have any feel for literature greater than that of someone who simply reads books for the love of it.
Above all, you wanted your students to read, because what underpinned your passion for literature was your unshakeable belief that reading was the foundation of intellectual, personal, and moral development, and that you needed to read to live a fully actualized life of the mind.
I sometimes wonder what you made of the 21st century world where reading seems to have been supplanted as the primary means for the acquisition and communication of knowledge. I am sure you would have had some pithy words for the faddish modern educational theories which hold that reading in depth and at length need not be the cornerstone of a child’s learning. You always used to say that there could be no alternative to reading and that books were the heart and soul of civilization.
Your other passion in life was teaching and you remained a teacher nonpareil. I had the good fortune to enjoy first a two-person class and then a one-person class with you as the only literature student in my cohort at BIT.
You and I were both baffled as to how I only managed a C in my O Levels (and you were even more upset than I was), but you were the one who told that anyone can have a bad day in the examination hall and I shouldn’t take it as a reflection of anything important.
Your belief in me helped give me the courage to dismiss that poor grade as an aberration and continue studying English, and my future honours degrees in literature testify to the fact that you were right. I never let my early setback hold me back because I knew the value of what you had taught me and what I had learned under you, but also because of the faith you showed in me.
You are survived by so many of your other children -- your students -- thousands -- whose lives you changed and who will carry on your legacy in our own way
Of course, you were more than a teacher, you were an institution builder, moving from Green Herald where you had established your reputation as a legendary educator to found BIT and then The Red Brick School. As one of the earliest cohorts at BIT, when it was still just a fledgling (there were maybe 10-12 students in my class), struggling to find its feet and make a name for itself, I saw first-hand how hard you worked to build it from nothing and how proud you were of the students who passed through its doors.
This pride in your students -- or your children, as you always called us -- only increased with the years when the number of your students must have been in the thousands and many of them have made their mark as adults in various fields and disciplines.
As a person, you had probably the strongest personality and force of character that I have ever come across. I don’t think I’ve ever come across anyone quite so intimidating, though my career since BIT has brought me into contact with corporate titans, captains of industry, and world leaders on three continents.
I’ll be honest, as students everyone was terrified of you, but this was part and parcel of your educational philosophy -- you demanded that everyone take their education as seriously as you did, and you had neither time nor patience for anyone who didn’t give their all.
And with the habits of mind and discipline that you inculcated in me standing me in good stead for the rest of my life, I for one am grateful for the tight ship that you ran.
I still remember that the very first essay I wrote for you, you threw back across the room at me, so outraged were you at the poor quality of the work I had had the temerity to turn in. I was shocked, but I learned my lesson and my work for you was never perfunctory or below par again.
Once I had graduated from BIT you turned into an entirely different person. Gone was the fearsome principal who could make teachers and students alike quake with a fierce word or look, to be replaced with the pride, kindness, and consideration that you kept so carefully hidden from us when we were your students, so as to push us to be all that we could be.
The last time I saw you was at your son’s Numair’s funeral service. I still remember your eloquent, heartfelt, heart-broken words that day: "I have buried my child today. There is nothing more to be said."
Indeed there wasn’t. That was a tragedy that blighted the remainder of your life, but I hope you could take comfort in the fact that in his short life Numair inherited from you a love of and facility with words and left behind an enduring legacy that only your son could have written.
And I hope that you took and can take comfort in the fact that you are survived by so many of your other children -- your students -- thousands -- whose lives you changed and who will carry on your legacy in our own way.
With everlasting respect and thanks,
Zafar
Zafar Sobhan is Editor, Dhaka Tribune, and was a member of the BIT class of 1986.
