Asma Abbasi, who breathed her last on July 4, was a personality who epitomised values and a lifestyle that were modern and progressive enough to dwarf many of us from later generations. Born and having lived in a time when women having a career and active social life was frowned upon, she sailed gracefully in both, as an educationist and much-loved celebrity in social circles. From being a professor of Bangla to deftly anchoring education programmes, from being culturally active to engagement in multiple social outfits—her energy and enthusiasm were boundless. One of her remarkable traits was her incorrigible positivity and instant warmth that would make even a stranger feel at ease with her.

She was married to Mustafa Zaman Abbasi, a well-known singer, promoter, and researcher of folklore music who was the son of Abbasuddin Ahmed, the legendary Bengali folk song composer and singer. Coming from a traditional, conservative Sylheti family with her father being the principal of a Madrasa while being married to such a culturally enriched family must have been challenging for Asma Abbasi. But she blended in seamlessly by actively supporting the cultural heritage of her in-laws. Her two daughters delved into creative fields: Samira Abbasi became a singer and Sharmini Abbasi a writer. Asma Abbasi, however, made sure that the core religious values and traditions remained strong within the family. She received education from the Islamic Centre, near their ancestral home in Purana Paltan.

When they were in their prime, the Abbasi couple was one of the most well known in Dhaka. While her husband has been a prolific singer and artist, Asma Abbasi was a well-known figure in most circles with the confidence to walk into any gatherings with poise and dignity. Her instant warmth would generate positive energy in the room. Never shy to take the stage, she would seize any opportunity to speak with her usual charm and ability to grab people's attention. She was equally prolific in her literary work; books authored by her include Komola Ronger Dinguli (The Orange-Coloured Days), Shey Kon Bon er Horeen (From Which Forest is the Deer), and Hason Raja.

She received the gold medal award from the Ministry of Education as the best college teacher. As anchor of programmes on education and religion on BTV, she was well accepted by the audience when BTV used to be the only electronic media for information and entertainment. She also did programmes for Radio Bangladesh. In addition, she served as a member of the Film Censor Board, Family Planning Board, and as advisor to Kochi-Kachar Mela (an organisation for children). Asma Abbasi was the longest serving cultural secretary of Ladies Club, one of the oldest and well-known social outfits for women of her generation. As member of Inner Wheel Club of Dhaka and District Chairman of Inner Wheel Bangladesh, she led social and philanthropic works in the community.

On a more personal note, Asma Abbasi was the younger sister of my mother, late Najma Khasru, and they were among five siblings whose father was the late Maulvi Habibur Rahman Chaudhury, former principal of Sylhet (Govt.) Alia Madrasah and mother the late Syeda Hifzunnesa Khanam, sister of well-known literary figure Syed Mujtaba Ali. As Asma Abbasi's nephew, I had the pleasure and privilege to enjoy her affection and be a witness to the childlike simplicity and candour that she had. Any of my friends she had met in our house would instantly become another nephew/niece and she would greet them with the warmth of a favourite aunt. She would also go out of the way to make people happy, even at the frail stage of her life. She would cook by herself to send me her signature achari gosh (pickled beef curry), in spite of my repeated requests not to go through so much trouble as we lived in two different parts of the city.

After the last Qurbani Eid, she asked me to send her home-made sheek kabab. It was easier to do this when we used to live in an independent house in the picturesque Ispahani Colony and a little tricky in an apartment due to the need to have a stove that can burn charcoal. To satisfy her culinary desires, I bought a special stove to make the kebab at home and then sent it to her. A few days back she called me around midnight and before I could pick up the phone, it got disconnected. Since it was quite late, I wanted to call her back later, thinking that she must have been calling to thank me. I had no idea that the unanswered call would be the last call from her and in hindsight, I regret that I had not immediately call her back.

The lesson learned is that when people reach a certain point in their life, when every single day lived is a blessing to be counted and not life taken for granted—we should be vigilant to attend to them. When the time comes for our last phone call, last meal, last walk, last talk, last sunrise and sunset, last prayers—it is likely that we will know little of it beforehand and can only hope that our loved ones will be there as we make the transit from this world to the other. So, for those in the twilight years of their life, let no phone call from them be unattended or messages unanswered, and let them not be left alone. May Khala's soul rest in peace.

Prof Syed Munir Khasru is chairman of the Institute for Policy, Advocacy, and Governance (IPAG), an international think tank.

Views expressed in this article are the author's own. 

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