Remembering Mugdho: A life full of warmth and courage
The day I first met Mugdho (Mir Mahfuzur Rahman) is etched in my memory. It was January 5, 2019. Our esteemed professor, Dr Munnujahan Ara, came to our classroom looking for students who were interested in cultural activities. Mugdho and I, both guitar enthusiasts, immediately volunteered. Our shared passion for music quickly forged a friendship during rehearsals, and I was struck by how effortlessly he seemed to connect with others.
Beyond his impressive guitar skills, Mugdho was a talented ukulele player and an astonishing beatboxer. He exuded an unyielding spirit, as if nothing could deter him from his pursuits. We became constant companions, dedicated to our academics as well as a myriad extracurricular activities. From the football field to the cricket pitch, chess, table tennis, and carom board—there was hardly an activity on campus in which we didn't participate together. Our spirited discussions—"storms over a cup of tea"—became a cherished routine.
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel. I remember some pivotal memories that can offer a glimpse of the extraordinary individual Mugdho was.
In 2019, during our first year at university, I received a wedding invitation from a batchmate in Magura. Hearing about it, Mugdho declared, "Mama, your friend is my friend too. Let's go to Magura together." We embarked on the journey, attending the ceremony for a mere 15-20 minutes. Yet, in that brief period, his spirit created an enduring memory. As we prepared to return to Khulna, he boldly said, "I'll get us back to Khulna for free!" I scoffed at the impossibility, but Mugdho, undeterred, approached the bus conductor. Miraculously, the conductor agreed, with the condition that we ride on the roof. We saved our fare and, with that money, watched a film at Monihar Cinema Hall in Jashore before catching a local train back to Khulna.
On another occasion, Mugdho woke me up one night saying one of our batchmates was seriously ill. "Hurry, we have to go!," he told me. We took the university ambulance and rushed our friend to the hospital. The following day we had our semester final exam. Without a hint of hesitation, Mugdho assured our other batchmates, "All of you go. I'll stay here, no worries." While everyone else headed back to the dorms to study, three of us remained at the hospital with our ailing friend. That day, I realised for the first time how compassionate Mugdho was. He never hesitated to offer help to others.
I also must speak of his remarkable family. One day, Mugdho invited me to his cousin's wedding. I readily agreed. There, I met Snigdho, his twin, and their playful interaction was funny. Though it was my first visit to their home, their inherent warmth and welcoming nature made me feel instantly at ease. What particularly touched me was his aunt's gestures. That explained Mugdho's innate friendliness. Later, meeting his uncle, I understood from where Mugdho had gotten his profound sense of responsibility.
On campus, I witnessed Mugdho consistently raise his voice against corruption and drug abuse. He dedicated himself to the well-being of our batch and the university as a whole. He tirelessly attempted to establish a scout group at Khulna University, but administrative oversights unfortunately thwarted these efforts. Nevertheless, he never refused anyone in need, offering assistance at any moment.
We were both avid travellers, participating in every tour organised by our mathematics department. We revisited many places, but our most memorable journey together was in 2022. We embarked on a bike tour from Khulna, aiming to explore the northern part of Bangladesh. We traversed 18 districts, ending up in Tetulia where we watched the greatest football World Cup final in history on TV.
The last time I saw him in person was at Uttara North Metro Station in Dhaka. He offered me a ride on his beloved Bumblebee, his bike, to see me off. He used to say, "I'm going to study in Europe so I can travel all over the continent." On our last phone call, he said, "Mama, get your passport ready. We're going to India together." My passport is ready, but Mugdho is no more.
Today marks one year since Mugdho was taken away from us. He now exists solely in our cherished memories, where he will forever smile and playfully ask, "Kire? Ki obostha?" ("Hey! How are things?").
Jahir Rezwan (not real name) was a friend of Mir Mahfuzur Rahman Mugdho.
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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