Playwright Mamunur Rashid
Perhaps the rest of my days will be spent in this deep agony. Because, that time has come in my life— the time of old age when Shamsur Rahman began to regret everything. We will not live to see a good time. At the time of January 11, I dreamed that such a time would really come to this country. But, what was supposed to happen, and now what is happening? Why couldn’t I bring those words out of the deepest provinces of my heart: please don’t go, stay with us, this country will have its time as well.

Please Don’t Go
- Mamunur Rashid
(translated from Bengali)
[Prothom Alo, Sep 22, 2007]

Dear reader, first let me beg your forgiveness. In today’s column I will talk about some personal matters.

After dropping his only son at the airport, on his way to the United States, any father feels his throat tighten, many thoughts crowd into his head.

My son came to see his sick mother. After only 21 days, he left again. He studied in America. In that country, he has just taken a job. The job isn’t bad either, but in every moment he wants to return home. He studied film in college. Now he wants to return. Start working on films in this country.

When he first left the country, the BNP coalition had come to power. Ekushey TV was on its way to being shut down. My son used to direct a docu-magazine on that channel called “Light of Century”. A ten episode series on a century of Bengali history. After 6 episodes, reactionary quarters shut the program. Ekushey TV used to encourage young people. Simon Dring, Farhad Mahmood, AS Mahmood were very focused on this. Even though Nawajish Ali Khan was a media bureaucrat, he had a creative past, so he was involved in this as well. But the BNP coalition government cruelly crushed this channel. My son’s future became uncertain. One day I said goodbye to him at this same Dhaka airport. He needed to get educated during these dark years. When the evil time ends, he can return.

The evil rule ended. But did the uncertainty end? Ekushey TV no longer looks like its old self. The other channels are also broken. My son went back to his workplace. My wife and I said goodbye with tears in our eyes.

My son has a green card, so does my wife. I got the green card, but didn’t take it. Because of that crime, last time I didn’t get a visa to go to the US. I didn’t get to inaugurate the South Asia Theater Festival. New York was in an uproar over this. Protests were led by world famous stage director Richard Shackner. Although, after my wife surrendered her green card, they agreed to give me a visa.

I said, I fought for this country. Why should I become a citizen of another country? What future would I have there anyway? I don’t think they understood me. When so many people are dying for a green card, why wouldn’t I take it?

Anyway, a feeling of guilt chases me all day. Why wasn’t I able to say to my son “don’t go.”

My son studied at one of Dhaka’s best school. When he was in class seven, I asked him: if you become ruler of this country, what would you do? He replied, “First, I would shut down my school!”

I was scared when I heard his reply. He had good results in school. Later he was admitted to a good college. But he didn’t like any of it. He started liking education only after he went to America. His favorite place became his school, even though he was now much older. The school where he graduated also became the site for his first job.

I remember my village school. When I came to Dhaka to go to college, I cried into my pillow every night. I cried for that school’s teachers, students, the dumur tree next to the school, the canal, the fast-flowing river. Why didn’t my son have the same fate?

Why couldn’t this generation have a single fond memory for villages, schools, Dhaka city, anybody? He never saw endless fields, empty horizon, the gorgeous beauty of rain, the open hearts of simple village folk. Instead he witnessed dictator Ershad’s greedy, half-mad times. Then he saw a white terror in the name of democracy. Then, he came back this time to see another time of uncertainty.

His favorite Maloy kaka and Anwar chacha in jail. The affection he grew up with now missing. Whenever he came back to the country, Maloy kaka would call him repeatedly, would come and see him.

My wife is very sick. She very badly needs to be near her son. But still, after all this, I couldn’t bring myself to say “please stay.”

Perhaps the rest of my days will be spent in this deep agony. Because, that time has come in my life— the time of old age when Shamsur Rahman began to regret everything. We will not live to see a good time. At the time of January 11, I dreamed that such a time would really come to this country. But, what was supposed to happen, and now what is happening? Why couldn’t I bring those words out of the deepest provinces of my heart: please don’t go, stay with us, this country will have its time as well.

And yet, at the very beginning of this journey, that was the dream we all saw.

[Mamunur Rashid is a playwright and actor]