The person many of you know as "Mo" was known to me as Rentu Kakku - "Rentu" being his nickname (which was presumably given by my grandparent) and "kakku", meaning uncle. This is always how I knew him.
My first recollection of him was in the mid-70s (when i was below 10-years of age) when he came to Bangladesh a couple of times when my Dadu (paternal grandmother) had been diagnosed with cancer. Rentu kakku was going to stay with us during his rare visit. My father (Rentu Kakku's immediate older brother) became very busy and anxious about the need to create a comfortable environment for Rentu Kakku's stay. My father borrowed a bed from my maternal grandfather for Rentu Kakku to sleep in. It was not that we didn't have enough beds at our house but the bases of all our beds had wooden slats, making them quite firm to sleep on. The bed borrowed from my maternal grandfather had springs, and so was thought to be more comfortable for Rentu kakku and possibly closer to what he might be more used to in USA. I share this little insight because it's a story of the lengths the brothers went to make each other as comfortable as possible. Remarkable. As an aside, it was also the first time I glanced upon a can of beer, which again my father organised with great difficulty for Kakku, thinking that this would make him less 'homesick' for USA. I don't think our eldest uncle knew what was happening as he was a great man and very pious man; he would surely have frowned on drinking alcohol. As an aside, remember going into the room when they left to look at the can and take a smell - I was repelled by the stale odour...little did i know that in a few decades time... ;-)
My second and more vivid recollection of Kakku was when my father passed in 1982. Kakku came over to London to accompany us and my father's body to Dhaka where he would be buried. I sat next to him on the flight. He turned to me and asked whether I had packed my formal shoes. I thought it a strange question as i only had one pair of trainers and to me these were my shoes (formal or otherwise). I replied and said that I only had trainers. The next time he visited us, he brought for me a pair of black moccasin pumps - similar to the ones he used to wear. My goodness, i was over the moon. When i put them on, i walked carefully so as not to put any creases in. I used to notice how well turned out Kakku was, similar to my father and my elder Kakku but just a little bit more polished from obviously the hobnobbing he had to do with senators and clients in the US.
My 3rd abiding memory of Kakku was that he would always take us to Pizza Hut everytime he came, which incidentally was the only time we ate out. I used to look forward to his visits. And he did visit quite often throughout the 1980s. Once with Rosemary, and many other times by himself. I used to always accompany him to his meetings (I was literally his bag carrier), to his shopping at Selfridges and Harrods. There would always be one stop at either Miss Selfridges or Top Shop so that he could buy some things for the two girls Michelle and Ceci who i have never met but just recall being told that they liked punk jewellery :-) He would always speak in glowing terms about Kamal bhaiya, especially his tennis and what a "nice young man" he has become. And of course who can forget him receiving the prize from Princess Royal, Princess Anne. He looked so smart that day, which he carried well together with his signature broad kind smile.
I learnt so much from Kakku and admired his grit, persistence and perseverance. Like all of us, he had his flaws. In the latter part of his life, he would reflect on a life well spent and also about his mistakes, regrets and lessons. I will remember every conversation.
Well, Kakku, you are now with my dear Dada, Dadu, Boro Kakku, Abba, Chachi, my three Pupus and two Phuppas, your favourite mama my Botok dada, your favourite Janu Kaka my mochwala dada, your bosom buddy my Dolara kakku and many other family members. You are not alone. I will also see you at some point and, who knows, perhaps I will again carry your bags.
Your loving nephew,
Budda
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