I did not forget SM Sultan. I called him Sultan bhai. When I started my career in the fall of 1986 with the Goethe-Institut, the office was located at Road 2 in Dhanmondi. It was a semi-modern three-storey house with a lush green front-yard.
The environment was unique. As you stepped on the front corridor of the building, it would give you a mixed feeling of ancient times – the historical fragrance of art, literature, and music – as though these reverberated in the corridors of the entire building.
It always resurrected in me the feeling of the 15th century European renaissance whenever I went around the rooms that housed film reels and art pieces. The grand black piano would play a thousand notes as you walk along. The huge auditorium gave you a soft reminder of the theatres of the middle ages. While inside the building, you would get caught in olden times. Here history keeps you hammering.
I remember with fondness, the agile and active director of the centre, Peter Sewitz, who passed away a few years back in India. He was a great lover and promoter of Bangladeshi art, culture, and literature. During his time, many Bangladeshi artists and activists had the opportunity to visit Germany, many had their books translated, or had their artwork exhibited in the centre.
Since it was the home and refuge for cultural minds, the emergence of SM Sultan was no big surprise. It was late December 1986. I remember entering my room with loads of tension, and program cards in my hand to be sorted out.
I worked as the program officer and had to carry out programming activities of the centre throughout the week. Goethe-Institut kept its officers and staff (in program sections) on their toes all week.
I met the man in my room while he was waiting for someone else to show up. He was in the wrong room, I told him. He cared less. I saw this man with long curly hair, not too many teeth, drained cheeks, and with a long black gown on. To me he looked more like a magician than an artist. Little did I know that he was a magician with colours.
We became good friends. He won over Peter Sewitz. We had him in almost all our events. He seldom missed out on parties that we so often held in our premises and at the director’s residence.
We held the art exhibition of this great artist in 1987. It was perhaps the second Sultan exhibition. Goethe-Institut did not mind spending all that was necessary for the event. It was done with heart and spirit. The arrangements were flawless. With colourful brochures and posters all around the city, the event took on an importance. Maestros from all shades took an interest. Well before the event kicked off, I received countless telephone calls and visitors inquiring about the event.
It was a great show of masterpieces by Sultan. The entire building was decorated with his work, especially the first floor (the exhibition room). The amazing characters of his paintings (bulging muscles of rural men) were a treat to watch.
It was a successful event. Important government and civil personalities, common visitors, and art lovers thronged the venue as long as this remained opened.
Today, 27 years on, I cherish in my heart those colours on vast canvases and the moments that we passed. The whispers in the corridors, the shouts down the alley, and hullabaloo of the maddening fans in the front-yard, all keep coming back.
A number of times, Sultan would ask me to visit his home in Narail, where he was beginning to build up an empire of nature, birds, and animals. Although I visited Narail once in my childhood, and played along the banks of the Chitra, I could not visit him during those days.
Along with SM Sultan, those times and characters have passed away into the wombs of time, never to look back.
