Extension of Dreams: My father Sona and Uncle Ansari
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This picture appeared in Assam Tribune on 1st March 1945 after Abba was decorated for valor in his action against the Burmese in Akyab
Abu Nasser Zial Haque (Sona) at age 23By Maqsoodul Haque (Mac)
A fair assessment of my father Abu Nasser Ziaul Haque Sona – would be of a real life ‘tragic hero’ that Allah in his infinite Mercy and wisdom has honored me to be a son to. He was a man among men who would be the guiding force of my destiny.
The life I have chosen for myself, meandering, wavering, never-perfect and troublesome to many as may be – as I write, let me be forthright and admit that there is never a moment I live, without his over enveloping memory: that of a forever affable, outspoken and frank to a fault human being – who had NO absolute monopoly on virtues – just like all of us!
What will however never elude me is a realization that I am in a round about way the ‘millennium public eyes’ of dreams he had, of predictions he made – and of a world he taught me would be much harder to live and fight a ‘piece of the pie’ for in the days ahead.
He had prepared me for this day, and prepared me to be in the ‘public eye’, a much larger eye than one that our small yet lovable Auhomia community in Bangladesh may imagine. I live on (48 pushing 49) as a ‘continuation of his human vision’ – the fight goes on - much as I see the extension of both our collective dreams in my only son, friend and now comrade, Abu Saeed Shafiul Haque Dio – Sona’s talented grandson.
Father initially discouraged me from music because he was afraid I would not finish my education. He was more than keen to see me through University. If I had chosen to drop off and hadn’t finished graduation, he would have died a very unhappy man – let us not forget that he was not entirely proud of his own CV. He was a Matriculate, and it was only natural that he looked at my Graduation from an University as an extension of his dreams.
Assured that I wouldn’t let down his dream (i.e. my Graduation) he let me be, and I even surprised him in 1977 by receiving a grant to study Political Science at the University of Rochester in the US, while I was a second year student in Notre Dame College, Dhaka. While he could easily afford to pay for my tuition and the airfare and infact signed the consent form, yet his somber request a day later that he would live a ‘couple of more years’ if I did not leave him, made me trash all documents and decide to stay back. Yes, all my college friends left for the US or Canada, but I stayed on and there is absolutely no regret.
Father as he would say later in life, ‘received an extension’ for my not going away. Can a son ask for a bigger compliment? He loved me too dearly, and knew without me he would die, and so I went on to become a musician, a business executive, a socio-cultural-political activist, a hobbyist philosopher, a writer, journalist among others.
He taught me to love nature and its ‘best creation’ man, with the poorest of the poor being the focus of his undivided attention. He reminded me that it was in the tradition of the Haque’s, the children of Paziruddin Ahmed the Judge, that it would stand by for service to the poor – imprtantly -- service to the nation. My Grandfather opted for the Bengal Judicial Service (and thus our association with Bengal) for no other reason, but because Muslims in Sandwip, where he was the first Munsif, were an oppressed lot.
It was for the service to the nation that Sona went to the Second World War at age 16 (there weren’t such things as ‘child soldier’ those days!) as an ordinary Boy Petty Officer and saw death and action up close. During the War after an action in Akiyab against the Japanese he was decorated for bravery and his picture appeared in an Assamese English language daily. It remains to date my most precious possession.
His younger brother by a year and one day Abu Taher Khairul Haque Ansari, also went to War initially in the Air force and later in the Army and he was the one who encouraged me the most to sing – predicting to my father that I would be ‘among the very best’ if I were to take music as a profession – in those days an ‘unheard of’ or ‘destitute like’ profession to be in!! Ansari was the most accomplished singer that I have ever had the fortune to meet, and he, like me was musically illiterate i.e. – he could never play any instruments, except one sent by gOd, his voice.
He taught me two songs one from Saigal “Ei dil mujhe asi jagay ley chal jaha koiee na ho”– and Bhupen’s “Mitha mitha bohagor, geet e tikay rosu buli bhabilu” – and I in turn taught him Ahmed Rushdies “Co-Co Corina” which we would sing in chorus in our evening drives in Rangoon.
Back to Father, despite the fact that I was an only son, he kept me under his strictest supervision (his favorite quote ‘Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child’ still gives me the chills), and thrashed me mercilessly whenever I lied, teaching me ‘tell one lie boy, and you end up telling 200 lies to cover up just that first one’.
He had, what was once described by my youngest uncle Abu Saeed Shamsul Haque Babu as a ‘notoriously fearful temper’— and it was dear Millie Baity and Nellie Baity who would rush to our house in the same building where we lived, to rescue me – when his ‘kaan tolia sor’ (box to the ear) beatings would send my howls reverberating all across Ajmeri Manzil in Amlapara, Narayangunj, where I was born.
No folks my father was no Saint. Yes I was an abused child, beaten silly even when I was not at fault, unable to tell the TRUTH as he had taught me to – because I could see that I was been beaten on assumption of an information he had received, which itself was a LIE.
However I would even at that very tender age appreciate that in his beatings he was being ‘merciful’ for I also remember times he would make up to me. Realizing that he had beaten me up for the wrong reasons, he would tell me stories of his childhood and how he was treated as an orphan.
Among the most poignant moment I spent with him, was holding him tight as he sobbed worse than me, narrating stories of how he at age 10, having lost both parents, would go without meals just to make sure his younger brothers Ansari and Babu didn’t go hungry. These stories and others would feature in the Unpublished Diary of Ansari that I have decided to type out laboriously each day and send and share with you. Stay tuned.
If asked honestly all of us Haque’s have several unabated blemishes in our traits. We make hasty decisions, are highly opinionated and judgmental, yet on the flip side when pointed out in ‘clear and no nonsense terms’ that we have been DEAD WRONG, have also the sagacity to apologize, no matter whosoever we have erred. I see this trait so much in Mahmood (Dangka) these days, that it sometimes embarrasses me. He after all is one epitome of what a Haque man ought to be – and ME, his most ‘colourful’ an eccentric–by-choice opposite!
It was Ansari’s death under mysterious circumstances in Rangoon that completely shattered Sona and he was overnight transformed and devastated. For the Haque Ansari’s death was monumental as it was to be the first death in what we term ‘our first generation’.
Ansari died at the peak of his glory, the highest decorated Bengali Officer, a war hero of 1965, a man the whole world was looking up to. His next posting was to be as General Officer Commanding (GOC) of the Pakistan Army here in Dhaka, when it was turn for our Maker to order his return from where he came.
Extension of Dreams take a new dimension when you juxtapose time and space, between NOW and THEN.
In 1987, I turned 30, and was on the verge of releasing my first Bengali album with my erstwhile band FEEDBACK. Father would listen to all the songs everyday, would have some sarcastic comments on some and was uplifted by others – also predicted that I would be singing Bengali songs all my life, and approved of the Cover Inlay, yet 2 months prior to its release, he too was hastily asked by his Maker to return to where he came from.
The album ‘Ullassh’ went on to become history and is entering its 20th year next year, when it will be considered a classic. My Dad did not live to see that day, but luckily I have seen the extension of his dream.
In July 2005, a week after his 20th Birthday, Dio and his band “Nemesis” released their first album “Onneshon” (closest English translation - the Search). My son is an Undergrad at the Independent University in Bangladesh, a Rock Star who is lot busier than me, at 6 feet 2 inches the tallest drummer in Bangladesh!
On 9th January 2006, Dio did me a huge favour – he played drums in one of my recent recordings and we jointly see a music future – of course as a musician I completely surrender to his talents.
He has after all beaten me by 10 years with a debut album.
A fair assessment of my father Abu Nasser Ziaul Haque Sona – would be of a real life ‘tragic hero’ that Allah in his infinite Mercy and wisdom has honored me to be a son to. He was a man among men who would be the guiding force of my destiny.
The life I have chosen for myself, meandering, wavering, never-perfect and troublesome to many as may be – as I write, let me be forthright and admit that there is never a moment I live, without his over enveloping memory: that of a forever affable, outspoken and frank to a fault human being – who had NO absolute monopoly on virtues – just like all of us!
What will however never elude me is a realization that I am in a round about way the ‘millennium public eyes’ of dreams he had, of predictions he made – and of a world he taught me would be much harder to live and fight a ‘piece of the pie’ for in the days ahead.
He had prepared me for this day, and prepared me to be in the ‘public eye’, a much larger eye than one that our small yet lovable Auhomia community in Bangladesh may imagine. I live on (48 pushing 49) as a ‘continuation of his human vision’ – the fight goes on - much as I see the extension of both our collective dreams in my only son, friend and now comrade, Abu Saeed Shafiul Haque Dio – Sona’s talented grandson.
Father initially discouraged me from music because he was afraid I would not finish my education. He was more than keen to see me through University. If I had chosen to drop off and hadn’t finished graduation, he would have died a very unhappy man – let us not forget that he was not entirely proud of his own CV. He was a Matriculate, and it was only natural that he looked at my Graduation from an University as an extension of his dreams.
Assured that I wouldn’t let down his dream (i.e. my Graduation) he let me be, and I even surprised him in 1977 by receiving a grant to study Political Science at the University of Rochester in the US, while I was a second year student in Notre Dame College, Dhaka. While he could easily afford to pay for my tuition and the airfare and infact signed the consent form, yet his somber request a day later that he would live a ‘couple of more years’ if I did not leave him, made me trash all documents and decide to stay back. Yes, all my college friends left for the US or Canada, but I stayed on and there is absolutely no regret.
Father as he would say later in life, ‘received an extension’ for my not going away. Can a son ask for a bigger compliment? He loved me too dearly, and knew without me he would die, and so I went on to become a musician, a business executive, a socio-cultural-political activist, a hobbyist philosopher, a writer, journalist among others.
He taught me to love nature and its ‘best creation’ man, with the poorest of the poor being the focus of his undivided attention. He reminded me that it was in the tradition of the Haque’s, the children of Paziruddin Ahmed the Judge, that it would stand by for service to the poor – imprtantly -- service to the nation. My Grandfather opted for the Bengal Judicial Service (and thus our association with Bengal) for no other reason, but because Muslims in Sandwip, where he was the first Munsif, were an oppressed lot.
It was for the service to the nation that Sona went to the Second World War at age 16 (there weren’t such things as ‘child soldier’ those days!) as an ordinary Boy Petty Officer and saw death and action up close. During the War after an action in Akiyab against the Japanese he was decorated for bravery and his picture appeared in an Assamese English language daily. It remains to date my most precious possession.
His younger brother by a year and one day Abu Taher Khairul Haque Ansari, also went to War initially in the Air force and later in the Army and he was the one who encouraged me the most to sing – predicting to my father that I would be ‘among the very best’ if I were to take music as a profession – in those days an ‘unheard of’ or ‘destitute like’ profession to be in!! Ansari was the most accomplished singer that I have ever had the fortune to meet, and he, like me was musically illiterate i.e. – he could never play any instruments, except one sent by gOd, his voice.
He taught me two songs one from Saigal “Ei dil mujhe asi jagay ley chal jaha koiee na ho”– and Bhupen’s “Mitha mitha bohagor, geet e tikay rosu buli bhabilu” – and I in turn taught him Ahmed Rushdies “Co-Co Corina” which we would sing in chorus in our evening drives in Rangoon.
Back to Father, despite the fact that I was an only son, he kept me under his strictest supervision (his favorite quote ‘Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child’ still gives me the chills), and thrashed me mercilessly whenever I lied, teaching me ‘tell one lie boy, and you end up telling 200 lies to cover up just that first one’.
He had, what was once described by my youngest uncle Abu Saeed Shamsul Haque Babu as a ‘notoriously fearful temper’— and it was dear Millie Baity and Nellie Baity who would rush to our house in the same building where we lived, to rescue me – when his ‘kaan tolia sor’ (box to the ear) beatings would send my howls reverberating all across Ajmeri Manzil in Amlapara, Narayangunj, where I was born.
No folks my father was no Saint. Yes I was an abused child, beaten silly even when I was not at fault, unable to tell the TRUTH as he had taught me to – because I could see that I was been beaten on assumption of an information he had received, which itself was a LIE.
However I would even at that very tender age appreciate that in his beatings he was being ‘merciful’ for I also remember times he would make up to me. Realizing that he had beaten me up for the wrong reasons, he would tell me stories of his childhood and how he was treated as an orphan.
Among the most poignant moment I spent with him, was holding him tight as he sobbed worse than me, narrating stories of how he at age 10, having lost both parents, would go without meals just to make sure his younger brothers Ansari and Babu didn’t go hungry. These stories and others would feature in the Unpublished Diary of Ansari that I have decided to type out laboriously each day and send and share with you. Stay tuned.
If asked honestly all of us Haque’s have several unabated blemishes in our traits. We make hasty decisions, are highly opinionated and judgmental, yet on the flip side when pointed out in ‘clear and no nonsense terms’ that we have been DEAD WRONG, have also the sagacity to apologize, no matter whosoever we have erred. I see this trait so much in Mahmood (Dangka) these days, that it sometimes embarrasses me. He after all is one epitome of what a Haque man ought to be – and ME, his most ‘colourful’ an eccentric–by-choice opposite!
It was Ansari’s death under mysterious circumstances in Rangoon that completely shattered Sona and he was overnight transformed and devastated. For the Haque Ansari’s death was monumental as it was to be the first death in what we term ‘our first generation’.
Ansari died at the peak of his glory, the highest decorated Bengali Officer, a war hero of 1965, a man the whole world was looking up to. His next posting was to be as General Officer Commanding (GOC) of the Pakistan Army here in Dhaka, when it was turn for our Maker to order his return from where he came.
Extension of Dreams take a new dimension when you juxtapose time and space, between NOW and THEN.
In 1987, I turned 30, and was on the verge of releasing my first Bengali album with my erstwhile band FEEDBACK. Father would listen to all the songs everyday, would have some sarcastic comments on some and was uplifted by others – also predicted that I would be singing Bengali songs all my life, and approved of the Cover Inlay, yet 2 months prior to its release, he too was hastily asked by his Maker to return to where he came from.
The album ‘Ullassh’ went on to become history and is entering its 20th year next year, when it will be considered a classic. My Dad did not live to see that day, but luckily I have seen the extension of his dream.
In July 2005, a week after his 20th Birthday, Dio and his band “Nemesis” released their first album “Onneshon” (closest English translation - the Search). My son is an Undergrad at the Independent University in Bangladesh, a Rock Star who is lot busier than me, at 6 feet 2 inches the tallest drummer in Bangladesh!
On 9th January 2006, Dio did me a huge favour – he played drums in one of my recent recordings and we jointly see a music future – of course as a musician I completely surrender to his talents.
He has after all beaten me by 10 years with a debut album.
posted by Mac Haque at 12:57 PM
1 Comments:
Very nice father and son relationship - bravo
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